The Parent Trap
by percyjacksonfantothecore
Summary: Travis and Connor Stoll have never met, but they're siblings. Twins, even. When they meet at a fencing camp called Camp Half-Blood, they'll begin to wonder. But between the cabin pranks and the seemingly normal camp life, will they make it? And what about their parents? Will they ever be a family? Sometimes, two Stolls are better than one. AU, OOC. Based on movie with same name.
1. A Great Commencement

**Hey, everyone. This hit me almost right after I finished my last story, and I was working on a plot ever since. I finally think I'm ready, but I still have a couple gaps. And I'll fill those gaps pretty much depending on you guys. I'll take anything you got: reviews, follows, favorites, ideas, pretty much anything. **

**Oh, and yes, I know Travis and Connor aren't twins, but just for the sake of this story, please just go with it?**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**A Great Commencement**

Travis Stoll managed to find happiness in the oddest places.

He also managed to find trouble a lot. In fact, he managed to make trouble almost everywhere. So when Travis got the news that he was going to his dream fencing camp, he was excited. Just not for completely same reasons his mom thought.

He was on a shuttle bus, sitting next to a girl he didn't know. She wasn't particularly pretty, erring on the more bulky side. She wore a size XXXL T-shirt. Travis knew- hey, no telling- because he had shoved some friendly bugs down her shirt. She had yet to notice the big red rash that was going to form by tomorrow morning. Fortunately, the girl hadn't suspected him yet.

Unfortunately, Travis had gotten crammed against the window and the girl had shut herself off the minute the bus started groaning, talking to some of her other friends. Every three seconds, he'd be given that _Who-brought-this-loser-here?_ look.

Clearly, he had nothing better to do, so he thought about the day his mom had handed him the envelope with the CHB seal engraved on it. Travis had been just about to hand the fancy envelope back to his mom, (that's what he usually did) when he noticed his name printed on the label. _Travis Stoll_, it read.

He tore it open neatly with a letter opener. He was skilled with those things, he couldn't understand why.

_Dear Travis Stoll,_

_You have been accepted in the Camp Half-Blood summer training camp. We understand that you applied to major for the fencing department, and because of your outstanding application, we have decided that you are best fit to specialize in this new course. _

_We have enclosed two one-way plane tickets to New York, NY. One is for actual use, and the other is a spare, just in case. Upon your arrival into New York, you will look for the shuttle bus labeled Delphi Strawberry Service. We are, as you know, a much diversified camp. The shuttle bus will drive you to our camp location._

The letter had gone on to explain more, but Travis had gotten the message loud and clear. He was in! Travis had shouted and whooped, hugged his mom, delivered the news, when it had sunk in. He'd be away from his cozy bed for 2 weeks. Not to mention his prank kit. Oh well, he'd take the to-go box.

Travis lived in Atlanta, GA. His "house" was technically a huge expanse of green well-trimmed grass with a well-planned mansion conveniently sitting upon the grass. There was also the paved road, which Travis would occasionally take the golf cart for a test drive.

Travis had his own butler named George (some of the time; George got quite cranky when he didn't have his meal at the proper time) and his dream car had already come true (despite Travis himself being a good 2 or 3 years away from the permit itself).

Travis was 13, getting awfully close to 14. He had one of those really late summer birthdays, and because of that, he was one of the youngest people in his grade. It got awfully annoying sometimes, but he made up for it by being a good lot smarter than most other kids in his grade.

The only downside of living rich was the less time with Travis' mom. Her name was Madison Evans. She was the sweetest thing alive. She was an architect who worked 24/7, not to mention a single mom. She had pretty brown hair, which became curly in the humidity. Since they lived in Georgia, Madison's hair was almost always curly, like Travis. She had really light blue eyes, a uniquely lucid blue. They weren't even close to Travis' own brown though.

Whenever Travis would get in trouble, she'd scold him, _Travis Stoll! _Travis could never fathom why she called him that. Evans was her maiden name- the one she had stuck by- and for some reason, the sound of Travis Evans didn't really click to her. Travis had always figured Stoll to be like some kind of middle name. Although, when Travis wondered what kind of parents would name their kid Stoll, he had no answer.

Travis didn't know whether a really long walk to the mailbox would count as a downside either. He supposed it did.

He'd left most of his chemical lab at home, just brought some supplies for the simple classics. He had to prank some campers and make them just a little mad, or else Travis wouldn't be able to have any fun at all.

When he was packing, Travis had been sure to separate his clothes from some of the more sticky substances. They were not to be messed with under any circumstance. Did Travis say simple pranks? Whoops. But then again, even the easy pranks are sometimes hard to pull off.

When Travis was told his yellow duffle bag would be shipped separately with all the other campers' luggage, Travis almost made a show of himself. He started praying to the gods, hoping his delicate stuff wouldn't get jostled the wrong way.

The shuttle bus dude, Argus, had given him "The Evil Eyes"-somehow managing to look creepy with both eyes- and Travis had stopped and tried to silence the snickering crowd with a joke.

It hadn't worked, and he had gotten shoved up against the unflatteringly cold window in the back of the bus.

Just when he thought life couldn't get any worse, the bus groaned again and bounced to a halt. Travis stupidly jerked forward, banging his head on the brown seat in front of him.

"Ow," he muttered, sure there would be lasting effects.

The mean bullies grunted and laughed.

"Alright, kiddies," shouted Argus from the front. "This is your stop. Single file, orderly fashion. No pushing."

As if fate had a destiny in store for him like the Fates had their ever snipping hands dug into the fates of ancient heroes before him, Travis was shoved backwards, and fell back into the seat just as he stood up. He was the last person off the bus.

"Some hero," he muttered.

"What was that, eh?" asked Argus, cupping a hand to his ear.

Travis looked up sharply. "Nothing, sir, nothing at all. Just wondering why I signed up for this camp in the first place. Already, I don't feel like I belong."

Argus merely shrugged and put a smile on. His eyes almost seemed to twinkle like the stars above as he replied, "To the contrary, boy, you might find you do, in fact, belong here."

Travis stared at him as if he had grown a third eye.

As the moment seemed to fade into something more awkward, Argus clapped a hand on Travis' back, "Get going, boy. I have to load a whole another batch of you."

Travis stepped out of the bus, his bones creaking. Now where was that yellow duffle bag?

* * *

Connor Stoll had a nut for a dad.

His dad wasn't particularly nutty; just he had somehow deluded Connor into going to this fencing camp all the way across the country in Long Island, NY, despite Connor having NO prior experience at all at fencing. Did Hermes Stoll want Connor to die alone, and get skewered by a pointy stick?

It apparently seemed so. When Connor had brought up that very crucial little point, Hermes had shrugged and simply said, "You'd learn. It's in your blood."

What was he supposed to say to that? What kind of answer was that? Connor had a lot of questions, and it seemed that Hermes Stoll never seemed to answer these questions completely.

Take the time Connor had asked about his name. Why was he named Connor and not something cooler like Blake?

"Gee, Connor, I don't know. It just seemed to fit. Connor Stoll and- and company."

Besides, Hermes Stoll was the kind of dad who cared by not caring. He owned a HUGE shipping company, and for a good portion of Connor's early years (well, the small stuff he could remember) Hermes had immersed himself in his mail business.

Since Connor was 8, he had complained about Hermes not being around all the time, but Hermes would only say the same thing again and again. "Did you know that when I was only a baby, I crawled out of my crib, and made my way to my destiny: a letter opener? My parents had thrown a fit when they returned to see me with a particularly dangerous weapon, but by then I knew what I wanted to do. It was my destiny."

The last time Connor's dad had narrated his autobiography, Connor had interrupted, rolling his eyes and muttering, "Any good parent would have freaked." Connor, since age 8, had discovered the wonderful uses of sarcasm.

Hermes looked at Connor, almost like seeing him for the first time. "Nonsense. I held my fate in my hands. I knew I was destined for this."

"What, running around like a crazy man in brown shorts and knee-length socks delivering matching brown packages to the good people of the world?" Connor had also asked sarcastically.

Hermes almost didn't notice his son's particularly evident sarcasm. "That's it!" Hermes yelled, almost frightening Connor, who flinched. "You're perfect for the job! You're hired!"

"But, Dad," Connor complained, "I have no talent." _Or interest_, he thought. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but as always, Connor bit back the words and let him get sucked into Hermes' schemes.

So, considering Connor's inability to come clean with his father, Connor supposed he could blame himself this time for getting into this pointless fencing camp.

Actually, ignore that unintentional pun.

By the time Connor had finally gotten his dad's attention, his company had become a nationwide success. It was all over the headlines. Who would have thought that a small neighborhood mail system originating in a suburb just outside of Los Angeles, CA would turn into one of the most reliable mail service providers in the country?

Connor had been about 10 when this had happened. His dad became "financially independent." The company had more money than it would ever need. So, Connor and his dad- who was pretty much ready for retirement at 35- packed their bags and moved to a vineyard up in northern California. Connor got used to it pretty soon, and ended up really liking it soon.

It felt good to be just Connor, Hermes, the cook, Martha- who was practically a part of the family- and the grapes. Then the fencing camp just ruined it. Connor wondered what would happen while he was gone. Connor was supposed to spend 8 weeks away from his dad, and majoring in a sport he didn't even know about until the last summer Olympics.

The only joy Connor would find would be in his pranks at camp. Oh, come on. Connor had to have just a little fun before he'd get kicked out and sent back home in a neat 'Olympus Shipping' package.

By the time Connor had gotten off his exhausting Los Angeles-to-New York flight, he was tired and suffering immensely from jetlag.

So when his exhausted eyes finally found the Delphi Strawberry Service shuttle logo, he just about ran over there. Too bad he tripped on the steps and found his face inches from the _Watch-Your-Step_ sign.

"Urlgh," he groaned, peeling his face from the ground.

The bus driver looked at him strangely. His name tag read _Agris_, wait _Arsgo?_ Sorry, Connor was slightly dyslexic, and his face was still suffering from the floor's imprint on him.

The letters settled into something like Argus.

"Sorry," muttered Connor, now turning to face the mob of fellow campers, who were still laughing their heads off their necks.

"Say, kid, didn't I drop you off at camp already?" asked Argus.

"No, I think I'd remember that. Must've been someone else," said Connor in a daze.

"Yeah," said the bus driver, uneasily.

Connor shrugged it off, and found a seat in the very back of the bus. Almost immediately, the bus lurched forward, and he found that no one else wanted to sit next to him. Wait, scratch that. No one even wanted to sit even close to him.

Connor sighed, and pressed his head against the window. Then, he saw a little tiny pink post-it note taped cleverly to the inside of the seat in front of him.

He ripped it off and read, _stuck in the window seat._

Connor sighed, and began folding the post-it note to make a mini paper airplane. He found that it could, in fact, fly. Then he lost it when the plane flew to the very front of the bus, hit Argus in the back of his neck, and crumpled like a real man.

In the rearview mirror, Connor could see Argus' eyes almost involuntarily flicker towards Connor.

Connor ducked his head, but Argus didn't seem to get mad or say anything. It was almost too good to be true.

Then, the bus grunted to a stop, and Connor's bent head rammed the seat in front of him. He rubbed his head, muttering some curses.

Connor stood up, and everyone gave him a wide berth.

Some of the nicer kids mumbled a couple thanks to Argus up front. Connor tried not to make eye contact, but failed when Argus put a hand on his shoulder stopping him.

"What'd you say your name was again, kid?"

"Connor Stoll, sir."

The answer almost seemed to satisfy him. Argus let go, and Connor left pretty quickly. He needed to find some friends, pronto.

This place was crowded. _It shouldn't be too hard, _thought Connor. Besides, Connor needed an accomplice.

He never thought he might find two.


	2. The Inceptive Approach

_**Whoo-hoo. A so far positive response from you readers. Enjoy the treat!**_

* * *

**The Inceptive Approach**

Travis blamed the Camp Half-Blood counselors.

Well, partially. Had the counselors known what was in his coveted duffle, they would never have careless tossed his bag under a mountain of 20 other harmless little bags. Really, the scariest thing in those other bags would no doubt be an alarming abundance of dirty socks. His on the other hand…

Travis stuck his hand, and pulled on the strap of his bag. He pulled, and pulled, and then heroically let go, rubbing his hands together, trying to beat some life back into them. _Was this something he'd have to do every day?_ wondered Travis.

"Oomph," he grunted. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

A guy about a couple inches taller than him sidled up to him. Through the corner of his eye, Travis noticed that he had a shock of fair hair, and those intense blue eyes that made every girl swoon. "You're going to need a little more help than that," he pointed out helpfully.

"Thanks for noticing. Any ideas?" Travis asked, not one to shy away from friends. It was as if the two were suddenly brainstorming together.

Just then, a big strong buff guy showed up on the opposite side of Duffle Mountain. He was wearing a rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt. Without a glance at Travis or his blond companion, the guy dug around the pile, and lifted his duffle bag with ease.

Travis whistled, while his blonde friend simply hummed, "_Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you_."

Travis looked at him strangely, and yelled, "Hey. Rainbow Tie-Dye Guy!"

The guy turned around. His face looked more and more like a brick, and those fists looked ready to crush Travis into pulp.

Travis swallowed and said, "I- um, need a little help with my duffle. Think you could help?"

To his surprise, the guy smiled, and said, "Sure." He dug around and found Travis' bag. "Here you go."

The guy looked at Travis' name label, and said, "Hey. You from Georgia?"

"Yeah, my name's Travis Stoll."

"Oh, that's cool. My name is Butch," said the guy, smiling.

"And I'm Will Solace," the blond guy pitched in.

Travis grinned. "Pleased to meet you."

"Georgia?" prompted Butch again.

"Do you really live on a peach farm?" asked Will.

Travis shook his head. "Nah, I live in a house outside the city. We have actual lawns there. It's not like there's a peach farm every 2 miles."

"Oh, that's cool," Butch said, while getting Will's duffle for him.

The three began walking toward the cabin area.

"So do any of you good at playing cards?" asked Travis, thinking ahead. Travis had a nasty habit of gambling, betting, and pranking. His fatal flaws, if you will. Although, what kind of flaws could be fatal, Travis Stoll himself didn't know.

Will and Butch, on either side of him, shook their heads.

Travis sighed theatrically. "Well, my new friends, you have got a lot to learn…"

…

Travis found himself faring quite well in the camp so far. He had two friends, and a whole crowd to please during the day. And he had a whole list of enemies to prank during the night. No one had made the enemies list yet, but from the glares he was receiving, he was sure to make up his mind soon.

Will was into basketball, archery, and music, while Butch liked horseback riding. When they took a look at the camp sign-up sheet, they found that they were in Cabin 11, together.

They took a look at each other. "Well, what are the odds?" murmured Butch.

Will and Butch looked to Travis. Travis shrugged.

They walked to the biggest cabin in the entire place. The paint was brown, and fairly recent, but already showing serious signs of damage, if the peeling paint was worth anything. Above the brown door laid a strange form of decoration: a mural of sorts, where someone had painted winged sandals. Travis looked down, and took a step forward. The strangest thing happened. Through his peripheral vision, the sandals seemed to shimmer gold for just a bit, before fading. _Like an optical illusion_, thought Travis, stepping back to notice it again. Strange enough, nothing happened.

Travis narrowed his eyes, and was about to do something, when he felt Will and Butch's puzzled stares on his back. Shrugging, he let it go.

Travis kicked open the screen door, and found the place was packed. Kids were everywhere, and wherever the bunk beds didn't take up space, sleeping bags squished together. There was barely any room to walk, and the mere sight of Travis and his companions made the rest of the cabin groan.

Travis resisted the urge to sniff his armpit. He wasn't that stinky.

The tallest guy there stood up. "Sup guys. My name's Luke and I am your counselor for now. Everyone stays here in Cabin 11 for the first night, and then we'll move you depending on your skills. Don't worry; we determine people really well, once we know what they're like. Hey, and if you're not quite that lucky, you'll stay here with me."

Next to him, Will raised an eyebrow. Travis sensed him sizing up Luke. He decided Luke was average. He was tall, and had blond hair, with subtle brown streaks running through it. He had clear blue eyes that reminded Travis of his mom. Travis could've said he looked like an overall nice college guy, if it weren't the long scar running down the side of his face. It didn't ruin his face, but from an angle, twisted it in such a way as to sneer at the person looking upon him.

Man, he must be a hit with the ladies, scar or no scar.

Travis cleared his throat awkwardly. There went his chances. Travis sighed inwardly. It looked like he was going single for another summer.

Luke grinned in a familiar way, like they were the best of buddies, and asked his cabin mates to scoot over to make room for the newcomers. Travis noticed with a jolt, when smiling, Luke's scar was almost invisible.

Travis muttered his thanks, and then voiced a question. "Wait- is everyone in this camp here in this cabin?"

Luke's eyes drooped, and Travis realized for the first time, how tired he must be. Travis was about to retract his question, when Luke's eyes popped open, and he said, sighing, "No, not everyone. That'd be tedious. We have a couple other guest cabins available. It's all just until you're determined."

"Okay, good," said Travis, lying down on the spot his mates had designated for him. Then he started unpacking, since there was no way he'd be going to sleep now.

He laid his clothes in front of him, careful not to let it out of his sight. He was careful not to touch or jostle the kit. Dangerous chemicals were stored in the bag.

He got ready for bed, and zipped up his sleeping bag. The little lamplight that was there flickered and turned off. Lights out.

Travis sighed, and succumbed to the ever welcoming arms of sleep.

* * *

Connor figured things could be worse.

He could be in a hippie community, where the big hippie overlord throws cardboard cutouts of lightning bolts at people he didn't like. Hippies, what could you expect?

Connor had gotten stuck in Cabin 5 with the bullies of the camp. That much was evident from the trademark barbed wire, and red paint the exact color of blood. Connor's stomach flipped as he felt suddenly queasy. Above the door was a little painting of two crossed spears. _How odd,_ thought Connor.

He fingered the door open. The first disturbing mental image of many to come was a picture of a scrawny kid getting an- ouch- painful wedgie.

"Hey! What was that for?" said Connor, rushing to the kid's rescue and dropping his duffle. In the moment, Connor felt like a valiant prince, a protector of the innocent, a voice of the commonwealth.

That all pretty much died when the bully's head swiveled around slowly on his fat neck.

"What did you say?" he growled, dropping the kid, and all but forgetting about him. The poor kid landed hard on his nose, and was clutching his head in agony.

The guy glared at Connor. Connor realized, just a bit too late, that this guy had killer biceps, a military cut hairstyle, and a (whoa!) tattoo. He looked like he belonged on a motorcycle, riding in a derby, and winning by hook or crook.

Connor began writing a mental will.

"It's just the first day of camp. You can't do that, man." Connor's voice got smaller, and smaller toward the end of each sentence.

By now, the bully had stalked up all the way into Connor's face. Connor hoped he wasn't trembling. "You can't tell me what I can or cannot do," he barked.

The bully had lifted his hand, when a higher-pitched voice interrupted whatever he was about to do next. "Mark, stop it right now."

It was like magic. Mark stopped, his hand awkwardly dangling in midair. He wasn't frozen, Connor could see that much, but compelled by the girl's voice to obey.

Even Connor felt like obeying, but sheer curiosity forced to turn his head in the direction of the voice.

A girl stood there, and she was beautiful. Her hair was choppy, cut purposely uneven that way, and her eyes shifted from one color to another. Connor couldn't decide, but the one thing he could decide on was that her eyes held a deep sadness in them, like the burden of knowledge had been too much to bear. The shade of her temporary blue eyes sparked something inside of Connor: something faint, like a ghost of a warm tinkling laugh.

She was wearing a snowboarding jacket, and torn jeans. She looked like a success at being natural, something even the most beautiful models out there couldn't achieve. She tried not to stand out, but Connor knew even now that she could never be a part of the crowd.

Obviously, the girl had said something, and Connor had missed it, because he had been too busy checking her out.

"Er-what?" he covered smoothly.

Her large intelligent eyes widened just a bit. "I said, 'Hi I'm Piper. Nice to meet you.'"

"Yeah, same," mumbled Connor.

Mark had recovered, and pouted. "Aw, come on, Piper. You always ruin my fun."

Piper wasn't fazed, not even a little bit. "Your version of fun is about as demented as it gets. Get a life, Mark."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Only if you go out with me," he tried. _Weak_, thought Connor.

Piper shook her head, exasperated. Connor wondered if this happened often to her. She hadn't given a second thought to the question.

Piper helped the scrawny kid up. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind one ear, a uniquely gentle gesture, Connor noticed.

The kid awkwardly pulled his low pants up. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Hey. My name's Connor," Connor said, nodding his head, mostly at Piper.

The kid groaned, and looked Connor straight in the eye. "Nico di Angelo, at your service." With a start, Connor realized his eyes were pitch black. It was then Connor realized not only were Nico's eyes the darkest color imaginable, but that his clothes and very demeanor were the absolute same. Dark and moody, that's what Nico's vibe was.

"So, that's cool. Are you my servant?" joked Connor.

Piper pressed her lips together in a half-smile of sorts (no doubt trying to make Connor feel better for making a lame joke in front of her), and Mark just glared, like Connor had expected him to, but Nico didn't seem to find it the least funny.

"Thank you for reminding me on my phrasing. Clearly, it needs work. Next time, I may not be so lucky. It's already bad enough that I have these voices in my head," said Nico.

Connor was about to mutter his thanks, when Nico's words sunk in. He looked up over Nico's dark head at Piper. _Voices_, he mouthed at her?

She shook her head sadly. Maybe another time, then, thought Connor bitterly.

Slowly, the conversation progressed into something much more universally eloquent: a series of contagious yawns even shared by Nico.

As they all got ready for bed, the also eloquent cabin counselor Clarisse barked, "Lights out, runts. Hopefully you'll be up and running soon, and then you won't have to deal with me."

Sweet dreams followed Connor's intense thoughts of murder against Clarisse.

…

When Connor woke in the morning, he was late and had to literally peel his eyes open so he could see well. He rushed and got dressed as quickly as he could.

Connor followed the cabin group down to the mess hall, where everyone ate breakfast. Since the cabins hadn't been determined yet, everyone clustered together sitting down awkwardly anywhere.

Connor got in line next to this one guy. He was wearing a pink polo t-shirt, tan cargo shorts, and those thick Nike Elite socks in black and pink tucked into a pair of colorful Sperry's.

"Hey," said Connor.

"Hey," said the guy, slipping a bagel onto his plate.

They began to make conversation as the slow line got moving. Connor learned that the guy's name was Mitchell. Connor introduced himself and got to know him a bit. Mitchell was good at sports, apparently.

"Want some strawberries?" asked Mitchell, scooping some of the very fruit onto his plate.

Odd enough, Connor remembered his dad's voice. _Whatever you do, stay away from the strawberries. Remember the last allergic reaction you had? Horrible hives, they wouldn't go away for a week._

Connor eased a smile on, and politely said, "No, thanks, I'm allergic."

Mitchell shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They reached the end of the line, and surprisingly, enough, Mitchell waited for Connor to finish up. They hovered near a table in the corner, unsure whether to sit next to this other guy. One of his arms was in a cast, and every time his body tried to move, he'd wince.

"Hey, man, you okay?" asked Connor, out of concern.

"I'm fine, dude. It's just an injury, nothing more," he said, grimacing. "Jake Mason, by the way."

"Connor Stoll," said Connor quickly.

Mitchell raised his hand halfway. "Mitchell."

Connor felt awkward just plopping his tray down, so he asked if it was okay if he and Mitchell sat here.

Jake shrugged. "It's not like I can stop you, and no one was coming here anyway."

Connor grinned hastily, and snuck a glance at Mitchell. Mitchell's lips quirked up in amusement; for some reason, Jake just seemed like a nice guy.

They made some small talk, and then Connor thought of something. Something very vital to his enjoyment- if there was going to be any- here in this camp.

"So do any of you particularly have a literal sense of humor?" asked Connor.

Mitchell and Jake both looked at Connor, puzzled. "I like to think I'm funny," said Jake, "but may I ask why?"

Connor looked to Mitchell, who hesitantly nodded. "Yeah, I'm with Jake on this one. Why?" asked Mitchell.

Connor smiled and looked down. The guys definitely noticed as he sensed their curiosity spike. "Oh, nothing," he mumbled.

"Tell us," urged Mitchell.

Jake, a little too tired to lean in eagerly, nodded.

Connor sighed theatrically. He was so good at this. He sniffled, and spoke with an air of dignity and pride.

"_Well, my friends, we have got to start a prank war or else I will die of boredom." _


	3. Connor's Carbon Copy

**Connor's Carbon Copy**

Travis is most definitely not a girl. But why did he feel so giddy inside? It must have been the cereal.

Breakfast had started out okay. He, Will, and Butch had got in line. Travis had gotten his cereal, and stayed away from the strawberries just like his mom had told him to.

They sat down at a table in the corner. It was empty, so they sat down, and began checking everyone else out.

"Check that girl out," said Will, slyly pointing to a girl within Travis' line of sight at the other end of the hall.

She was blonde, and really pretty. She would have even made Travis' list, if she weren't glaring at him, or actually, through him with those killer gray eyes.

"She doesn't seem to like me that much," whispered Travis to Will.

Will chuckled. "Oh, it's not you she's glaring at. She just happens to hate the guy standing behind you."

Travis whipped his head around to see a guy with black hair and bright green eyes. He was glowering back over Travis' head at the girl.

Travis noticed with certain zeal that she flipped the guy off before turning around to finish her plate.

"Why does she hate the guy?" wondered Travis.

Will's only answer was, "Family rivalry. It's no secret."

Travis whispered, "Five bucks she's head over heels for him."

Will eyed him weird. "I wouldn't make that one. They very convincingly hate each other. Unless Annabeth is really good at hiding crushes," murmured Will, taking a bite of his French toast.

"It'll take Sherlock over there 4 years to get the girl, at this rate," murmured Travis.

"How do you know all this?" asked Will, swallowing what seemed like a large chunk of toast.

Travis grinned. "You're looking at the matchmaker of my school in Atlanta."

Will's horrified expression was enough.

Just for effect, he added, "Oh, and just for the record, we have got to get you a girl, my friend." When Travis couldn't handle the giddiness spreading through him, he cracked a grin, and busted out laughing.

Will, relaxed, and laughed as well. It was a fit of hysterical laughs, before it took them a couple seconds to calm down.

By then, Butch had rejoined the conversation. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

Will and Travis glanced back at each other and admitted together, "Nothing."

Butch gave them a cross look, and said, "Well, while you guys were laughing like madmen, I was looking at a bunch of other nice ladies in the room."

Travis looked in the direction Butch was vaguely gesturing to, and saw a girl with heavy makeup, and frizzy black curls. She noticed the three of them staring, and fluttered her eyes.

Her eyes seemed to sparkle. Wait-no. Travis realized that she was actually wearing eye glitter. Travis absolutely refused to describe what she was wearing- or what she wasn't wearing, for that matter. What a- Actually, on second thought, Travis is NOT going to finish that sentence.

Travis put a hand on Butch's shoulder. "_This is not your thing, my friend_," said Travis, in a one-of-a-kind Spanish accent.

Will visibly mock-blanched beside him. Travis playfully swatted him without looking back.

Butch scowled, and said, "Shut up. I wasn't talking about Drew. I was talking about her."

Travis looked in the (this time) right direction, and saw finally what Butch was fussing about. A girl was there, and her back was to the three, but even then, Travis could see she had nice hair. Her hair was a lively chestnut brown, full of life, and naturally straight, although the ends curled a bit, no doubt because the humidity.

She was wearing a green sundress, and it fit her perfectly. She turned around, and got up to refill her glass of water, when Travis noticed her face. The nose was perfectly sized, her eyebrows were naturally arched, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. Naturally, mind you people thinking of ugly Drew.

It took Travis a moment or two to notice Will nudging him. "What?" he snapped.

Will smirked knowingly, as did Butch beside him. "How's our matchmaker doing so far?" he asked innocently. As if, thought Travis.

Travis involuntarily blushed. He clamped his lips shut. "No comment," said Travis in what he hoped dearly was a monotone.

Will scoffed, and Butch snorted so loudly that the table next to them turned around to glare. Butch waved gleefully, wrinkling his nose at them. Butch turned back around to raise an eyebrow at Travis. Just the one.

The moment seemed to fade into awkwardness, so Travis cleared his throat. Will and Butch were still looking at Travis expectantly.

Travis glared and said, "This is where you change the subject."

Will rolled his eyes and said, "Sure. Like we're gonna let this one go."

Travis protested, but Butch interrupted. "Hey, did you hear about Jake Mason?"

"No. Who's that?" asked Travis quite eagerly.

"He's that guy over there in a cast," said Butch, pointing to the opposite corner of the room.

The guy whose face he could see had a cast on his arm. Every 2 seconds, he'd wince and clutch his arm. Travis's heart clenched, since he could relate.

Travis had broken his arm when he was 9. He'd fallen off a swing, and landed hard. His friends at school had laughed, but signed his cast, if that was worth anything.

This Jake character was talking to these two other guys. Travis couldn't see their faces, but the back of his spine tingled.

Travis shrugged it off, and looked at the clock. His eyes widened, and he stood up abruptly. "Come on, guys. We only have 5 minutes to get to archery."

Will stood up, a bit faster than Butch, and the guys dumped their plates in the trash. They headed out, and stole a map from the _Where are you _sign next to the mess hall.

…

Travis was no good at archery. This was a special class taught by Chiron, the activities director. He had a beard, and was constantly in a wheelchair. No one exactly knew why he was in that wheelchair, or how he had gotten there, but they did know for sure how well he could move in that thing when it came to the Paralympic Races.

Travis' aim was perfect. He'd never actually hit the target, but by some magical occurrence, he'd managed to aim for Chiron or the bushes more than once. It seemed his arrows were lopsided, and the wind just wasn't blowing right. Yeah- that must have been it.

Once, he'd actually hit Chiron in the back of the head. The man had whipped around in his chair, and raised his eyebrows at Travis.

Travis blushed, and muttered an apology. _It's like the guy has eyes in the back of his head, _thought Travis.

Chiron's great once you get to know him.

His friends were no help. Will was a showoff, as expected. Every single arrow seemed to veer towards the bullseye.

And Butch, even he was decent at the sport. He'd hit the target, the edge of it mostly, several times.

Really, the lot of them really put Travis to shame sometimes. Travis sighed, and shot another arrow at the target, using what he thought were the proper techniques.

Observation: Get new friends, if possible at all.

MISS. Really, Travis doesn't even know where that one was supposed to go.

Travis just couldn't wait until this pointless class ended, and fencing started. Then he'd show them all. He would.

But how was Travis to know that a boy nearly identical to him in every single way was dreading the same class which they shared together?

* * *

Connor blamed the Fates.

What kind of people- even if the Fates are 3 scraggly-looking old ladies knitting lives and threads together- put sensible people like Connor (for the most part) in such horrible predicaments like this?

When Connor had mentioned to Jake and Mitchell at the end of tennis class that he was to major in fencing, Jake and Mitchell had whooped and cheered and clapped his back.

Connor looked at them like they had just announced they had just won a beard-growing contest. "What's the big deal?" he had asked.

Jake's eyes widened, and he beat Mitchell to it. "_What's the big deal?, _he asks as if fencing isn't the most hardest sport ever!" he mocked. In a more serious tone, Jake added, "Dude, I applied and I didn't get in. It's one of my classes, but I won't be specializing in it. Some of the people who even just wanted to minor got rejected. You're so lucky."

Mitchell bobbed his head quickly in agreement. "Dude, what'd you do to get in? Are you like pro at fencing or what?" he demanded.

Connor laughed harshly, at his own inside joke.

Still, Connor started pondering. He figured the counselors put lowly fencers of his status just to make the athlete prodigies feel good about themselves.

But before he could deny their crazy allegations, Mitchell interrupted. "Ohmigosh! I'm friends with Connor Stoll, a pro at fencing. I've got to tell that to everyone."

Connor winced, but neither of the two noticed. Their eyes were glazed over.

Before Connor could find himself weaving more webs of lies, he changed the subject, not bothering to correct Mitchell. "So what do you guys specialize in?"

"I'm good at building stuff. Crafts, hands-on experiments, stuff like that." Jake shrugged. "It's nothing compared to fencing, though."

Mitchell jumped in again. "You guys put me to shame. I got stuck with the hair salon experience."

"Seriously?" asked Connor, having not known there was even a class like that. Curiosity killed the Connor- er, cat. He was about to correct the two before they could fan out and humiliate him.

"Yeah," sighed Mitchell wistfully. "Well, bye then," he said, waving. "I've got to get to my next class."

"Yeah, me too. See you around," said Jake, jogging off.

And then there was one.

…

Connor walked into the fencing class with nothing in mind. He saw a huge crowd, meaning this was a popular class.

The activities director, Chiron apparently also had this class to teach. He wheeled in, looking smooth and purposeful, while the rest of the students just hovered and stood awkwardly.

"Well, take your seats, children," projected Chiron.

Everyone sat down, cross-legged on the mats. There was an open space in the middle. Chiron wheeled, and addressed the crowd.

"In this class, you will take up the sport of fencing. It is a graceful sport, and if that isn't an oxymoron, I don't know what is." Chuckles vibrated between everyone. "Since today is the first day, we'll have a match-up to test your skills. Any volunteers for the first battle?" asked Chiron.

The shy kids raised their hands halfway, and then dropped. As for the rest of them, those few remaining people pumped their hands into the air and waved eagerly.

Connor rolled his eyes. He decided he might as well get this public humiliation over with, and raised his hand. Besides, there was a what- 1 in a 63 chance he'd get picked. It was just for show.

Chiron closed his eyes, and pointed both his hands in random directions. When he opened his eyes, they seemed to gleam with a certain fervor to them.

One finger landed on Connor. He sighed, and stood up. Connor hated times like these when pretty much all his luck ran out.

He walked up to the center, and slipped the fencing gear on with some- okay, a lot- of difficulty. He slipped the fencing mask on somehow, and strangely seemed to like it.

His blood rushed like he was about to do something amazing, and he was going to remember it. If only that were the case.

His opponent, the other guy Chiron pointed to, faced Connor, his gear already slipped on. And judging from the guy's already ready stance, this guy was a Will Solace kind-of showoff.

Oh, boy. This was going to be good.

"En guarde," began Chiron, slowly backing up off the mat.

"Fence!" Connor's opponent lunged, and Connor instinctively scooted back. Just in time, he raised his epee to somehow parry the other guy's attack.

The other guy advanced again, when Connor felt something pulse from the weight of his arms. In a sudden burst, he blocked and dove headfirst into an attack.

The other guy saw it coming and sidestepped out of the way, sending Connor almost bumbling and tripping on his so-far lithe feet.

"Hiya!" grunted the other guy. Connor did an about-face, and looked for his attacker. The guy was nowhere in his line of sight, until Connor saw a flash of metal in the corner of his eye.

He whirled, and caught the tip of the blade inches from his face. Connor's face scrunched as he leaned away, and then he slashed at his opponent's side.

His opponent's body twisted sideways in order to avoid the point. Connor felt like doing something with his epee, so he tried to circle parry and thus disarm his opponent.

It was just too bad his opponent tried the very same move at the very same time, and both their epees ended up flying through the air and far away from their grasp. They clattered on the floor with a tinny sound.

"What?" exclaimed the other guy, appealing to the crowd. He sounded outraged. "Isn't there some rule for this? He should get penalized, and the title should go to me!"

Connor grunted. His brain was on overdrive; he wasn't going to waste his energy by talking in a fight.

Epeeless, and out of ideas, Connor was quite ready to take this match into something closer to a physical brawl, when Chiron wheeled in between them, and declared, "Okay, kids. That's enough. I think we can call this one a draw. We don't want to go at this all night long."

Connor would have been perfectly content with that idea, although he didn't voice that aloud.

Connor turned around, refusing to look at his sore loser of an opponent, and took off his fencing mask. He most absolutely would not shake the brat's hand.

Why should he, Connor Stoll, act nice with a guy who couldn't even take it easy on newbies? Why should Connor shake hands with a self-centered guy who couldn't even bear losing?

This guy was a show-off, a spoiled brat, and a guy who thought he was _so _funny. And get this: Connor could tell all of this even though he'd never seen the guy's face once.

And he didn't plan on it.

"Now, gentlemen," began Chiron, "let's shake hands."

Connor rolled his eyes, and did an about-face, and was about to squeeze the living daylights out of the guy's hand, when he saw the guy's face.

Involuntarily, Connor gasped. (Okay, wait. That didn't sound manly. Actually, Connor sucked in a breath. That's better, right?)

It was as if Connor was looking into a mirror. The guy in front of him had the same curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a mischievous glint to those very eyes which Connor himself shared. They were even close in height. The guy in front of him was a smidge half-inch taller, but it was barely noticeable.

It was clear the other guy saw this as well. His eyes widened, taking Connor in, and trying to think- of what, Connor didn't know. His outstretched hand began to falter, when Connor stepped in and shook his hand.

He kept his eyes on trained on the other guy's face.

Weird, even his hand felt familiar. Connor flinched in surprise, as did the other guy. Connor looked to Chiron.

Even he seemed to be at a standstill, while the rest of their fencing class scooted in closer to see what the fuss was all about.

Connor seemed to find his voice, and croaked, "Connor."

The other guy's eyes flashed, but became blank when Connor's name struck no tuning fork inside the other guy's thick skull.

"Uh- Travis," said the guy- er, Travis.

When the awkwardness must have gotten to him, Travis' expression cleared, and he casually asked, "What's everybody staring at?"

Connor's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean, you don't see it?"

"See what?" asked Travis.

"The resemblance between you and me."

Travis tilted his head to one side, just like Connor did sometimes. "Resemblance? I don't see any resemblance. Do you?" he asked, putting Connor on the spot just like that.

What a master of words, thought Connor. Connor's expression must have screamed, 'Yes!', because the guy said, "Turn to the side."

Connor raised his eyebrows, set down the fencing mask, and crossed his arms, taking on a unique posture.

The Travis dude instructed Connor to swivel his head in every direction possible, just so he could analyze Connor's face.

Travis hummed. "You know, now that you mention, I do see it. But there are some very clear differences I can also see. For instance, your mouth is thin-lipped, and your eyes are much closer together, and that nose- ugh, so crooked" –Connor involuntarily put a hand on his nose- "-and the awful shape of those ears…"

Travis made a face, and Connor felt the tips of his ears heat up. Suddenly, his hands were clammy.

When Connor found his voice, he growled, "You think you're so smart, don't you?"

Travis maliciously grinned, but it was only present for a moment, and soon flashed away, replaced by a charming smile. "Deal with it, buddy. You're stuck with me."

Connor glared. "I swear, Travis-" he started off, but then faltered when he realized he didn't know the guy's last name.

Travis smirked. "Stoll. Travis Elliott Stoll."

Connor tried to keep his face devoid of any emotion, but Travis must have sensed his recognition. "Co-Connor Michael Stoll."

Chiron wheeled into the conversation yet again. "Well, let's be gentle about this." He looked to Travis, and began, "Connor-"

Both their heads jerked up, and they both snapped, "I'm Connor," and "I'm Travis."

Chiron hastily backpedaled. The effect of two people speaking together was understandably scary. Especially two people who are scary alike. "Sorry, Travis- wait, I mean Connor- no wait, I do mean Travis- I'm sorry, it's just- you two look a lot alike."

"Thanks, I know," said Connor, relying on sarcasm.

Travis rolled his eyes. "Oh little dumpling, don't you know sarcasm is for the imaginatively dead?"

"Who are you calling dead, you _lump of foul deformity?_" sniped Connor.

"Ah- Richard III. Stealing from Shakespeare's plays, I'd say _that_ is not very imaginative."

Chiron cleared his throat, and Travis and Connor narrowed their eyes at each other, paying no attention to Chiron.

"If you think this is over, Stoll, you're wrong," Connor thrust out for the sake of having the last word.

"Bring it, Stoll. Bring it on."

And so began the legendary Stoll wars.

[And Connor never really did have the last word.]


	4. Hypothetical Kisses

**Hypothetical Kisses**

Connor made it home dazed, and quite confused. Not that this wasn't a first for him; he often took a while to process things.

But now was probably not the best time for Piper to jump into his life.

Connor pried the door open, and headed sluggishly to his designated sleeping area. Only a couple people were in the cabin. It was still early outside, and most people were still chatting and finishing up dinner in the pavilion. He sat down, thinking when Piper ambushed him with a question.

"You look down. What happened?"

He looked up, and she was dressed in basketball shorts and a ratty t-shirt in lieu of pajamas. Her hair was braided hastily, and Connor should have been excited to see her actually talking to him.

But his spirits only sank farther below into a bottomless pit the size of Tartarus. He sighed heavily. "It's just the first day, and everybody already knows how terrible I am at fencing. I almost got sliced in half."

Piper sat down, with her legs crossed, in front of Connor. When he hit the word "fencing" though, her eyes widened, and her mouth parted open a bit.

"You're in fencing? That's amazing!" She gaped at him openly.

Connor looked down, only feeling worse. "That's the point; I'm terrible at fencing, and my opponent is a jerk who looks just like me."

She was confused. "What?" she asked.

Connor licked his lips. "The guy looks just like me. Same hair, same eyes, same height practically, I swear it's like the guy is my-"

"Twin?" Piper finished.

He nodded, dimly realizing how lame this must all sound, but then he noted something peculiar. "You don't seem particularly surprised. What- do you know something?" he confronted her.

Piper's slender eyebrows almost disappeared into her side bangs. She blew on them frantically, pushing them away from her line of sight, finally, with the ever useful hand.

"No," she replied. "I was just thinking; that must have been the guy I saw walking around. I thought he was you, so I waved, except he didn't wave back, because he didn't know who I was."

Piper's cheeks turned pink as she finished.

Connor smiled wryly. "Oops."

Piper exhaled loudly. "Yeah," she said.

Connor nodded, and changed the subject. "So- um- do you have a boyfriend? Because I just thought the other day- you know- when Mark asked you- um- out, I just thought it was a little awkward, you know. First day and all?" Connor stuttered. He cursed inwardly.

She politely stared at him for a moment before replying. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. And even if I did, I wouldn't make a big show about it. I hate being noticed."

"Me, too," echoed Connor.

"I wonder sometimes-" –she paused, choosing her words carefully- "-if I could ever be normal. Everyone says I'm pretty, but I'm not. I'm just Piper."

"I don't want to turn into shallow petty girls who find delight in tripping other girls and having the perfect shade of foundation. That's a base for makeup by the way. But really, I'm not that kind of girl."

Connor nodded ambiguously. Piper had gone into girl territory, and come back with a couple new words.

She then scrutinized Connor before adding in a more hushed tone, "Well- there was this one guy I really liked. He was perfect. Blonde hair, blue eyes-" –Connor almost groaned, having not realized Piper was that kind of girl- "-and the nicest guy ever. At least that's what I thought he would be like."

She chuckled nervously, seeing Connor's puzzled look.

"It's like when you see from a distance, and think oh- he's nice, he's cute, he'd make a nice boyfriend- when in reality, you don't even know the person. They're strangers to you."

Connor nodded dutifully.

"That's what happened to me with J- actually, let's talk hypothetically. Let's call this guy Jack. So I had never once in my life talked to Jack. I saw him from a distance, and I'd-" –she swallowed- "-fantasize about a relationship between us. He could have been really nice. I hoped he'd be a romantic. A nice guy who'd take you on dates, and be that perfect gentleman."

"Jack wasn't. He was a jerk at some times. He was the kind of guy who'd watch on, who'd stand there being a central person, but never stopping anything from going through its course. And that's the part I hated most," Piper confessed, her voice filled with anguish.

Connor was finally getting some of this.

"And he still doesn't know who I am, and I'm trying to fall out of it," finished Piper. She yawned.

Connor swallowed the yawn that followed, and spoke, his voice hoarse. "So you're just kind of hung over from the last guy. He's like your ex, wait, no- your fake ex, since you guys never really dated."

Piper nodded languidly. "And get this: he goes to this camp."

"Well-bummer," Connor said, truly at a loss for words. Imagine that.

"So you're still into Jack, right?"

She yawned. "Yeah," she murmured. "Wait-who's Jack?"

Connor felt weary, and couldn't even lift his lips. "Just go to sleep, Piper. It's been a long day for you."

"Okay, and remember, none of this gets out, okay?" she said, before getting up, and sauntering over to her sleeping bag.

"Gotcha," said Connor.

Eventually, people began to file in, and turned the lights out.

Connor finally let the corners of his lips turn up, as he laid his head down in an –eventually- futile attempt to go to sleep.

…

"Psst! Psst! Connor Stoll, you fat-headed liar, get up!"

Connor mumbled something, before his slow brain started working. He opened his eyes sharply, and saw double vision for a moment. He snapped his eyelids shut, letting them adjust to the light.

He rubbed his eyes, getting up leisurely and stretching lazily. He was about to ask what time it was, when he saw the silver glow of the moon slanting across his face from the cabin window next to him- something that shouldn't have been there. Not to mention his entire cabin was asleep.

But the window wasn't as bright as it should have been, mostly due to the fact that two eager heads filled most of the window space, gazing eagerly at Connor.

Mitchell and Jake were to be the death of him.

One of them- probably Jake, the sensible one- pointed to the door. Connor nodded slowly, and slipped out the door.

"What are you doing here at this time of the night?" Connor whispered harshly.

"Actually, it's the early morning, so I guess it's daytime," corrected Mitchell.

"Your point?" asked Connor, particularly spiteful.

Jake, the ever diplomatic one, started off. "We need to talk."

Connor glared at them both. "You do realize if we get caught, that we'll probably get some ugly camp chores or something, right?

Mitchell raised his eyebrows. "And this is coming from you?" he questioned.

Connor probably blushed, but thank goodness it was dark outside. "Good point. You were saying?"

Mitchell's somewhat irritated expression cleared. "We heard about your fencing match. Interesting, right?" he said, smirking.

Connor for the second time that day (er, night maybe?) was speechless. He would never again underestimate the power of the Camp Half-Blood Rumor Mill, which thrived on rejection.

"So?" recovered Connor.

Jake grinned. "So we thought we might help you out. Please tell me you brought some duct tape with you, Connor."

"What? Duct tape? Uh- sure," said Connor. "Why?"

Mitchell's eyes flashed in a cunning, yet familiar way. "Come on, Connor. This was your idea."

"What?"

Connor was confused. His idea? Since when did Connor Stoll think of ideas? And smart ideas at that?

Mitchell and Jake looked to Connor expectantly. He blinked, and returned with a blank stare.

Mitchell sighed, but then continued with a fierce determined voice. "We're going to prank that punk so hard he's not even going to know what hit him."

Oh. Yeah.

* * *

Travis woke up with odd sensation to scratch his rear end. Not that this had never happened before, but this was quite unbearably itchy.

Travis opened his eyes to see bright light. He blinked for a moment before trying to get up.

It didn't work.

He craned his neck up to look at his feet. His entire sleeping bag was lined with duct tape, and stuck to the floor. He couldn't move his arms, trapped inside the bag, and the itchy sensation was still there.

He licked his lips. Er-he tried to. His mouth strained against the duct tape. Travis took a deep breath through his nose.

He wriggled his arms free, and all but ripped the duct tape covering his mouth in anger.

Ooh- bad decision. Travis hunched over like a lightning bolt had struck him. Talk about painful.

Travis figured the lower half of his face was a conspicuous bright red. Great. Now everyone would ask him if he had waxed his face, and Travis would have to reply with, 'No. I dealt with duct tape.'

Oh gods. How embarrassing.

His face still stinging, Travis carefully peeled the duct tape from the floor, leaving no trace of its existence, and almost giving the dirty floor a much needed cleanup.

Travis got off the floor and stood up awkwardly, putting two hands on his lower back to steady himself.

He rubbed the itchy end. He looked to the bag.

The inside of Travis' sleeping bag was filled with sand from the beach, no doubt. Travis cursed loudly. Sand.

A couple people next to him who had just woken up chastised him. Travis waved it off good naturedly.

It was probably that rascal Stoll.

Travis grumbled some choice words. He grabbed a t-shirt and a comfortable pair of jeans and headed to the shower.

So it was a regularly bad morning only about to get worse.

…

Travis followed the cabin line down for breakfast. He got some bacon and eggs, and proceeded to sulk alone at a table in the corner.

It was exactly 8 minutes and 24 seconds until Will showed, and another 2 minutes and 49 seconds after that until Butch showed up. Not that Travis was counting.

"Hey," greeted Travis dejectedly.

"What's up?" said Will.

"I got pranked," mumbled Travis.

Butch's eyes went wide. "No! You were pranked? Do you know who did it?" he asked.

"No, but I have a pretty good idea," said Travis, nodding to a spot behind Butch's shoulder where Connor Stoll was eating his breakfast, laughing really hard about something really funny.

Travis didn't even want to know.

Butch followed his gaze, and nodded. "Is that the guy? Man, you sure weren't kidding. He does look a lot like you." Travis had filled them in before lights out.

Will socked him in the arm really hard. `

"Ow!" exclaimed Travis, whirling to glower at Will.

Will glowered right back. "Snap out of it! No one cares or knows. Just get the guy back later! Go for revenge, buddy!"

"What?" murmured Travis.

Butch nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Pretty boy over here is right. We should- what? Why are you looking at me that way?" demanded Butch.

Will glared pointedly.

"Oh. Oh that?" Butch waved a hand dismissively. "Didn't mean anything by it, bro. Sorry if you took it that way. So anyway, like I was saying, just call it payback and prank the dude back. And then watch your back."

Travis slowly started to understand. "Yeah, totally. But I'll wait until I think of something good that I have the supplies for."

Butch clapped a hand on Travis' back, making Travis wince. Butch and Will laughed heartily, while Travis wheezed out a laugh.

The 5-minute warning rang out in the form of a bell gonging in the distance.

"Come on, let's go to archery."

…

The rest of Travis' day was quite mediocre. In fact, it was only in his canoeing class during the afternoon that Travis got a break from all this bad karma.

Why? Because that girl in the green sundress was in that class.

Travis couldn't believe he hadn't noticed her the first day.

She wasn't wearing a green sundress today, but instead was wearing something more practical like jeans and a green t-shirt.

And as usual, she paid no attention to Travis at all.

The counselor in charge called roll, and Travis paid attention through the long list of A's B's and C's to listen for the girl's name.

He was about to fall asleep during the F's when he found out that the girl's name was Katie Gardener.

Pretty name, he thought. He stopped daydreaming around O'Brien, and was just in time to hear, "Stoll."

"Here!" Travis said, cheerily pumping an arm into the air as well.

A couple snickers here and there, but no general response at all. Well, then.

When the guy finally got through roll call, he started speaking. "Okay, let's get into the canoes and see how well you guys can row. It's okay if you're new, we just want to see where everyone is. So everyone will get fitted into a canoe, and I'd like you all to start from this end of the dock and row to the other end of the lake, and then row back."

Sizing and buckling in everyone to the canoes took a while, but finally the counselor got it done.

Travis saw the showoffs eagerly race to the halfway point. Travis sighed at the others' naïveté.

He purposefully kept an eye out for Katie and saw her struggling near the back of the awkwardly paddling newbies pack.

He made small strides, and caught back to her. If that sentence makes any sense.

"Hey," he said, putting an arm up halfway.

Her face was scrunched up pretty tight in frustration. But at least, she noticed Travis. "Uh- hey. Look do you mind? I'm kind of struggling here," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders.

"No problem," said Travis, who considered himself an easygoing person.

He waited a whole two seconds before cracking under pressure. "Name's Travis, by the way."

He almost didn't notice the sideways glance she gave him.

"Just thought you might want to know," he said casually.

She took a deep breath, probably pacing herself, perhaps trying to calm her anger down- no irritation, how could anyone be angry with Travis? "Well, if it makes any difference, Mr. Travis, my name is Katie."

"Thanks, I know," Travis said without thinking. Wait, what? Did he really just say that out loud? Travis cursed inwardly. It's best he not accidentally say that part out loud as well.

She looked away, and focused intently on her rowing technique. Was that a pinkish color to her cheeks? Travis couldn't tell, but he grinned to himself.

Once Travis got over his own tongue-twisted words, he offered some helpful advice. (Because that is what Travis Stoll does best. Help and eventually prank others). "I couldn't help but notice you're pretty much tilting your paddle and your body weight side to side. You're not really going to get anywhere with that."

"Gee thanks, I noticed," she said flatly. Travis let it go, figuring she was just waiting for the right moment to profess her love for him.

"Here, make a- a figure eight of sorts- yeah, a figure eight with your paddle, and you'll move better." Travis showed her how to do it, and effectively glided during his demonstration about 4 feet ahead of her.

He waited for her, and eventually she caught up. "Thanks," she said softly, looking him up and down with a new vested interest.

By now, most of the showoffs were on the way back for the home stretch, and lapping Travis and Katie. They were jeering, while Travis resisted the urge to laugh at the try-hards.

Travis cleared his throat. "You sure you don't want to thank me some other way?" he asked, with a certain lilt to his tone.

Katie didn't get it yet. "What?" she demanded.

Travis sighed dramatically. "You could like- give me a kiss," he got out with probably all the courage he had left.

Katie scoffed. "As if."

Travis dramatically leaned over the left side of his canoe, puckering up. She politely leaned away from him.

It was probably here the best part of Travis's day came. He tipped a bit too far port, and the canoe buckled under his weight. The canoe neatly flipped over, catapulting Travis into the wet water with the grace of a buffalo. A loud splash rippled the water.

The last thing Travis remembered was the rotten stench of water entering his nasal cavities.

* * *

**(Edited October 2013)**


	5. The Dilemmas of Life

**The Dilemmas of Life**

Travis woke up to a bright light and the homemade smell of apple pie.

He sat up, resting halfway on his elbows. His eyelids scratched open. At first, his thoughts while looking at the cozy room went a little something like, _Whoa! Humrsh…so good..mshck. _

And then Travis jolted into reality. At the foot of his bed, (wait- this wasn't even Travis's bed! Where was he?) stood Will and Butch.

"Hey, guys."

They were probably having a heated conversation before Travis interrupted. Both their heads snapped. "Hey," they both said a bit too quickly.

"Got any good news for me or is it just the usual gossip?" he asked.

Will grinned, his face relaxing and at ease. Whatever went on between him and Butch seemed to have evaporated in seconds. "Well, we heard this amazing story about this one suave guy, who in an effort to impress this one girl, jumped into a lake and almost drowned."

Travis's head pounded, but he still managed a smirk. "Not true."

Will frowned, and added something. "Your doppelganger friend was supposedly laughing really loudly when he heard."

"Supposedly?" wondered Travis out loud.

Will opened his mouth to add something else, when Butch chimed in with, "How are you feeling?"

Ah. The ever important question had arisen again. "Fine, thank you. Just a little disoriented."

Butch reached over to a cup resting on Travis' bedside table, and offered it to Travis. "Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better."

Travis took the cup graciously, and peered curiously inside the cup. Inside, a dangerously orange-looking liquid sloshed inside. Weirdest, of all, it seemed to glow gold from an angle.

Travis looked up at Butch. "If you're poisoning me-"

"He would do no such thing," interrupted Will. "Only I would ever think of anything that preposterous. Not our fragile innocent Butchy-wutchy."

Butch glared at Will.

"Payback," sung Will. Oh yes, he had a talent for singing as well. In fact, he was majoring in music.

Butch rolled his eyes, and told Travis, "It's perfectly safe. It's medicine that tastes just heavenly. Like nectar, if you will."

Gingerly, Travis slurped a sip. He sighed at the flavor. Homemade apple pie, made from scratch just the way Grandma would.

His grandma had passed on years ago, and his grandfather now lived with Travis and his mom. This one drink had Travis reminiscing of home. How was it even possible to miss home after only 3 days?

Travis noticed Butch and Will looking eagerly at him. "Oh- do you want a sip?"

They backpedaled, almost tripping over each other in their haste. "No, we're fine. Too much medicine is bad for you," stuttered Butch.

"Suit yourself," said Travis shrugging. He took another sip, before draining the entire cup and setting it down on his bedside table.

When Travis felt his legs begin to prick and go numb, he flipped up the covers and he jumped off.

"So they're saying you're ready to go," said Butch.

"Okay." Travis signed himself out, and they walked along the path. "So which class are we supposed to be in?"

"Oh, you're lucky. You're just in time for the campfire."

"What's that?"

…

It was every bit as horrifying as it sounds. Imagine 200-something kids, singing and chanting together, watching the flames rise higher and higher.

No one knew where to sit, so they all huddled awkwardly near the fire, tossing sticks in occasionally.

"Oh, Styx!" shouted another camper when he couldn't find another spare twig- a stick essentially. Although Travis couldn't be sure which word the camper was talking about, he was definitely adding that word to his vocabulary list.

See, another plus about this camp.

Their songs had an unnatural twist to it. It seemed Mother Goose had turned into Mother Greek, and every rhyme was centered on Greek mythology. Orpheus stole the show for two stanzas, while Jason boasted himself a whole saga. And don't even get Travis started on Odysseus.

Finally, the sing-along ended, and Travis could relax, at least having the small hope that Will wouldn't sing any louder, and attract more attention to their group.

Butch was a gruff tenor, as Will so helpfully pointed out to Travis.

Chiron called for attention. "Welcome, campers. I'm glad we got to have this campfire. We usually do these campfires on alternate Fridays, and the plan is to play Capture the Flag next week. We have a lot planned, so get ready."

The crowd shifted uneasily, speckled with anxious newcomers. "Also, it has come to our attention that many of our activities are a bit unorganized," Chiron began, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I'd like to personally remind everyone that cabins are being determined. There is no need to whine. It is how it is, and it has been the old ways since a long time. It's simply tradition, and many campers enjoy it afterwards."

The crowd weighed everything slowly, like a jury giving a crushing verdict. But before the jury could give the thumbs up or thumbs down, Chiron spoke, waiting for no one.

"That is all. You're dismissed." As if on cue, someone took a large bucket full of a grayish-looking viscous liquid and dumped it unceremoniously on the fire. It began to sizzle, and died slowly.

With nothing left to watch, all the campers began to head to the cabins.

…

Lights went out, as routine would suggest. Travis' head, not so much.

His head swam with ideas and thoughts. Every time, Travis would close his eyes, he'd see white, and chickens dressed as bridesmaids. And pink, lots of that.

He was at a wedding.

The image rippled, as Travis tried to gain a look at the happy couple facing the apothecary. The apothecary, however, looked very familiar with his red hair and green eyes. Travis couldn't place it, but the guy winked and pronounced the final words.

The couple devoured each other, as expected, and the best men started clapping real loud.

Travis felt his vision begin to blur around the edges. He felt the dark black barrier begin to close in on him, and he began to fight.

_No! This is a perfectly nice dream,_ thought Travis. _You can't take me out!_

The dream dissolved into pieces of a shattered cracked mirror. They floated away, and Travis finally let the winds take him away.

* * *

Connor got a nasty surprise in the morning.

He had figured some people in the camp hadn't liked him, but he didn't think it'd be like this.

Immediately, Connor knew this hadn't been Travis. This was just amateur. Cold-hearted and effective, but amateur. Connor had a feeling Travis wasn't amateur.

At the base of his bunk, a paper fluttered in the soft wind.

He picked it up anxiously, and read carefully.

_Annual Fencing Tournament Sign-Up Sheet_

_When: End of camp, TBA_

_Where: Arena_

_Why: It's FUN!_

_How: Easy. Sign-up here._

This title in bold print was followed by a long list of blanks for people to write their names.

Connor's mouth tasted like old pennies. He unstuck his tongue from the palate of his mouth, and sucked in a breath. He let it out.

His cabin mates, who were up already, kept their glued to Connor's reaction. Mark, who looked ready to pummel Connor even in the morning, kept pounding his fist into his palm and grinning to himself.

Connor didn't want to give them a reaction. None of them deserved even that much.

He set it aside, and got up. He yawned, and stretched like there wasn't a care in the world.

He left the paper there on the bed; let them make their own conclusions. Let them think he was actually taking this seriously.

He sighed. There was something he wanted to do…

…

Connor got down to the mess hall, and grabbed his usual piece of toast.

He stepped out of the line, and looked for a familiar face. Jake waved Connor over; at least with his good arm.

"Hey," Connor said, sliding into the seat.

"Hey." Jake had seemed on the edge lately. Connor tried to place where he was coming up with this stuff, but he couldn't.

Connor took a bite of his bread.

Mitchell plopped his plate down conspicuously, and grumpily slouched down next to Connor.

Connor flinched at his arrival. "What's up?" he asked, once he got over his shock.

"Just a bad morning. Don't ask," warned Mitchell, pointing to his hair. He sniffled, creating such a deeply nasal sound that Connor wondered if Mitchell had a really bad cold.

Mitchell's hair, which might normally be gelled up, separated into thin droopy wisps. It hung like a normal boy's might, and Connor didn't notice anything immediately wrong with it. One might expect a boy to have fashionably unruly hair.

Connor gave him a look. "It's not terrible- it's fine," justified Connor.

One side of Mitchell's mouth quirked up dejectedly. "I know. That's why. It's never this way."

Jake rolled his eyes at Mitchell, as if saying to Connor, _Can you believe this guy?_

_No, I don't think I can_, thought Connor, trying out the whole telepathy thing.

Jake shrugged ambiguously. Connor couldn't tell if he'd got the message.

Mitchell's eyes looked around frantically. His hands were in his hair, desperately knotting up tufts of his hair. "What am I going to do?" wailed Mitchell.

Absent-mindedly, Connor noticed Mitchell's hair stuck up once he was done pressing on it. "You know," Connor said slowly, "you could leave your hair just the way it is."

Mitchell gave him a look of great incredulity.

"Or," Connor amended, "you could even lend some hair gel to me, just in case I need it."

Connor could hear Jake mumble something unintelligible under his breath.

Mitchell gaped. "This is a HAIR EMERGENCY, and you want me to lend you some gel, which I don't have?"

Jake popped his eyes open. "Oh, is that what this is about?" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry; I kind of missed half of what just happened here."

Mitchell sighed dramatically.

"I have to-" But whatever Mitchell had been about to say, it didn't matter at the moment. At the moment, the tardy bell rang.

Connor cursed. Looking around, they were the only people in the mess hall. How had they missed the 5-minute warning bell?

"Let's go before anything worse happens," Connor said, his voice sounding strangely bitter even to him.

Mitchell wistfully sighed. "I'll just buy the generic brand from the camp store, I guess."

"Yeah," said Jake, his voice a combination of emotions.

If Jake expected any response, he didn't get one. The topic had been closed.

…

The clouds were a foreboding color of gray, but they seemed to just pass over the sky as if Camp Half-Blood were nothing.

Tennis went by slowly, each of Connor's serves internally collapsing in on itself. Even Mitchell in his deranged state was able to volley his usually ace-worthy serves back, and win all the sets.

Even fencing was a disappointment. Chiron was pretty much trying to separate Connor and that other Travis dude. Which was fine by Connor, but even he needed some spice in each day.

And that's how Connor moped himself to debate class. It was actually one of his favorites, because he was a good spontaneous speaker. He just worked that way.

And Connor loved proving his point. Mainly on how pranking is completely justifiable and rational.

The guy who taught the class was this one counselor named Luke. He was going to teach fencing this year but apparently changed his mind.

He was a professional fencer.

_Like we need any more in this camp_, thought Connor.

"Okay, guys. Today we're going to talk about persuasion and the power of words."

The rest of the class listened attentively. Most of the girls paid attention as well. Mostly to Luke.

Connor was pretty tired of hearing other girls gossip about how handsome Luke was. But when Connor looked at his face today, it seemed harsher than usual, even with the scar.

The scar was like Luke's brand. Blonde hair, blue eyes, now who could that be? Blonde hair, blue eyes, scar, now there's Luke Castellan.

If Connor didn't know any better, he'd say Luke was-

"Our topic is the ancient Greek gods versus their predecessors, the Titans," said Luke. "Who is better? What can we learn from their actions? What happened in the myths?" he prompted.

No one spoke up.

"Okay," Luke said, rephrasing his question. "Let's try this. Who was Kronos?"

A couple feet away, a guy spoke out. "Well…Kronos was the king god, and-"

"God?" Luke asked.

"Titan," the guy corrected. "And…he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"

"Ew," muttered this one girl. Connor couldn't remember her name, but he did remember her makeup.

The guy continued. "-and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans, and the gods won."

Luke said, "Right, Percy."

Connor looked at the Percy guy, and tried to memorize his black hair and green eyes. Connor just had a feeling about this guy.

"So the people who are for the Titans stand over here, while the people for the gods stand over there," instructed Luke.

The class split neatly into half. Please read: bumbling and blushing girls tripping and accidentally falling into Luke's arms.

"And you can move at any time," mentioned Luke. "So you people on the side of the gods? Explain yourselves."

Connor hovered in the gods' side.

The Percy dude spoke up again. "They're the ones who're supreme, and no one should disrespect them."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "Granted, but what about the Titans? The gods are no better than them. Right?" he prodded, facing the Titans group.

A pretty girl spoke up. "Yeah. The Titans are better because- um, because they were there first."

Someone standing suspiciously close to Connor called out quietly, "Gee, Silena. I didn't think you could even speak with Luke standing so close to you."

"Shut up, I heard that," snapped the girl, Silena.

Luke didn't hear anything. "Annabeth, do you have any thoughts? You've been quiet."

A blonde girl standing two feet to Connor's left reddened almost immediately. "The gods are the ones who are there to remind you that there is always someone better than you, that you shouldn't get a big head just because you can do this or that," she said, with a shy glance at Luke.

Percy snorted deliberately, while Connor hid a smile. Behind Luke's back, Connor could see Annabeth stick her tongue out at the Percy dude.

"Haven't the gods been in power too long?" argued Luke.

Connor tried not to make his face look too ugly. "But they represent what's good, and what the ideal human should be like," Connor spoke, finally involving himself.

Luke turned his clear blue eyes on Connor. Something in his eyes flickered almost like…

"Human? How do you know you're human?" questioned Luke, purposely antagonizing that thought.

"Excuse me?" blurted Connor. "Are you saying I'm not human?"

Luke backpedaled, but hid an amused smile. "No. Not at all. I meant to ask what makes a human a human?"

"His or her actions," called out the blonde girl.

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Good actions or bad actions? Because some of us can be inhumane in our actions, can't we?"

"Speak for yourself," called out Percy. "Isn't that what the Titans stand for?"

Luke smiled, evidently pleased. "Yes, and that is why, to bring everything full circle, the gods represent the good humans should look up to where the Titans stand for the old ways, where everything was full of darkness, ignorance, and laziness." He paused, before adding, "At least, that's what my counselor's guidebook says."

Another girl on the Titans side made a high-pitched noise in her throat. "So we're all wrong?" she asked.

Luke shook his head quickly. "No, there is no right or wrong answer. In fact, if I were to choose, I'd pick-"

But Connor and the rest of the class wouldn't find out which side Luke would have picked ultimately because in that moment, the horn rang signaling dismissal.

"Okay, we'll finish this tomorrow. Until then, bye."

Everyone scattered, but Connor lingered.

Luke pulled out a cell phone quickly. Connor almost recoiled. Technically, you weren't allowed to bring cell phones into camp; at least, that was the campers' rule.

As fast as he had brought it out, he put it away. He looked up to Connor. "Yes?" he asked.

Connor swallowed. "Oh-um, yeah. You never told us. Which side would you have picked?"

Luke's gaze seemed distracted, never completely settling on Connor. But when he looked to Connor's face, he smiled absent-mindedly and said, "Well, isn't that the question we all have to face in life?"

"I'm sorry? Do you mean the whole gods vs. titans fiasco?" clarified Connor.

Luke shook his head. "No. What would you have done had you had the chance?" he said, rectifying himself.

Connor didn't know what to say. "Um, uh…"

Luke smiled brightly, clapping a hand on Connor's bony shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. There's a reason people take a whole lifetime to think about it."

And then Luke left as well, leaving Connor very confused and very late for class.

* * *

_**Sorry that Travis' piece of narration is so short compared to Connor's, but I promise Travis will have a longer piece for the next chapter. In fact, there will be more Tratie action. **_

_**Okay, so my life has been topsy-turvy lately. We have a huge orchestra concert coming up, and we're combining all three middle schools in the town, and there are going to be 200 something kids on the stage of this really big and amazing concert hall. And I'm pretty sure my director doesn't like me at all. I want to be 1st chair of the whole orchestra, but to do that I have to at least be 1st chair from my school. It's this whole big saga, and on top of that I have a huge math test coming up. **_

_**Wish me luck! **_


	6. A Pranking Escapade

**A Pranking Escapade**

Travis remembered his demented childhood very vividly.

There was one incident in particular Travis called up to the forefront of his mind now. It was in preschool.

His mom and his teacher were having a talk about Travis. As far as Travis could remember, it had something to do with his behavior that day during lunch.

Travis had been throwing carrots at everyone in the room during lunchtime. He'd found it hilarious to see them comically swivel their heads around and look for the culprit.

All the dumb kids took a while to find out who it was, and they started ganging up on him. By that, Travis meant just group up and walk up to him with scary death toddler glares. Travis had been afraid they'd do something to him, and he'd cried and called for the teacher.

His teacher hadn't defended him at all when she'd learned the full story.

"But Ms. Bailey, they're being mean," little Travis had sobbed.

"No, honey, they're not. They don't like you throwing things at them. That's mean," she corrected gently.

"But Ms. Bailey-" whined Travis.

"No buts," said Ms. Bailey, cutting Travis off. "We'll talk with your mother when she picks you up."

His mother had come, and they'd a really long talk. Travis was inside, playing with some used toys, though he was really anxious.

Finally, his teacher ushered him to his mommy, and they left through the front door as always. Travis prepared for his mom to yell or get mad.

But his mother just led him into the safe stable minivan, and told him, "Travis, next time please don't throw things at other people. They get mad when you do that."

Travis had sat there and nodded his little head. "Okay, mommy."

But every 5-year-old goes through his/her own "What If?" phase, and Travis was going through one at that time.

Traditionally, each child looks for loopholes in every law created by the parents. So it was natural to say that a couple noted examples were on the tip of his tongue.

For one, pranks. There were a couple more words, but this was the important one.

To be honest, Travis didn't consider them pranks at the time, but simply funny literal jokes.

It was like freerunning, where one uses his/her surroundings as a playground. Grabbing whatever was available to set the ultimate trap was something even 5-year-old Travis understood.

But the reason Travis thought of that one childhood memory was because of something Travis was doing right now.

Travis was in the process of pranking Connor Stoll's cabin. At precisely 2:28 in the morning.

Something with pink spray-paint and Connor's name…

Carefully, Travis made each stroke with a steady hand. He cringed at the noise of the bottle; he was already breaking curfew. If he got caught doing this, the consequences would be unimaginable.

It was a good thing Travis wouldn't get caught that day. As for days to come, well there was definitely one or two more pranks left in store for him.

With a hiss, the final letter was finished. Travis capped the bottle, and tiptoed his way back to his cozy bed.

Most of the people in his cabin were asleep. Those few who were awake for some reason didn't question him thankfully. If they were smart, they'd figure he went to the bathroom. If they had at least some common sense, then they might suspect something, but either way, Travis was safe.

With a deep breath, Travis snuggled into bed and dreamed a good dream.

Something about blue spray-paint and Connor's face…

Lightbulb.

…

Travis's second meeting with Katie was quite awkward.

Canoeing class had once again paired them together. They were both stuck in the same canoe. Literally.

The counselor had read off their names. "Katie Gardener- Am I saying that right? Okay? - and Travis Sto- does that say Scroll or-?"

"Stoll," corrected Travis. His name wasn't that difficult to pronounce.

"Sorry, hon. Everybody else is paired up already," confessed the counselor, looking genuinely contrite. Travis didn't understand why. He was such a wonderful person to be around.

Katie put her face in her hands, although Travis figured it was just for show. She probably just couldn't wait to get away from her other friends, and spend some quality time with Travis in a canoe in the middle of a lake.

Oi! Just thinking about it that way gives Travis the shivers.

The counselor saddled everyone up, and told them, "Okay, everyone. Just spend like 15 minutes or so paddling around while I get myself out there. Our goal is to spend the rest of the class on water, not land."

"Aye, aye captain," saluted Travis, shouting loud and clear.

Katie covered her ears, while the counselor gave him a bizarre look.

They took off from the dock, Travis making the first paddle.

The canoe went nowhere. If anything, it swerved to the right just a tad.

Travis looked behind him at Katie. "Hey, you gonna do anything today?" he asked.

She looked down, then sharply at Travis. "Yeah, but at least I won't be the one dunking himself into the lake," she said caustically.

Travis tried not to be taken aback by the remark. He sighed wispily, although his heart was beating really fast. "Oh, is that what this is about?"

She glared at him, and Travis strained to look at her. "It is if you want it to be."

Travis shrugged.

"Do you even know how worried I was?" she confessed. "It was terrifying. I was screaming like a banshee. You almost drowned, can you believe it?"

"You were worried?" asked Travis. When it came to all things Katie-related, he only heard the first couple words of each sentence.

She fumed. "No dip, Sherlock."

Sensing this conversation was going nowhere, Travis turned around in his seat and paddled. He felt the canoe move forward. They continued this way for a while, before Travis sniffed. The air smelled strange.

"Are you crying?"

"What? No," said Travis sharply. "It's the smell."

"What smell?"

"Don't you smell it, Katie?" asked Travis. With a jolt, Travis realized it was the first time he had actually addressed her by name. He had gotten used to calling her Katie inside his head, but out loud…it seemed much more real.

If there was any kind of special connection, Katie didn't feel it. "No, what's wrong?" she asked.

Travis sniffed the air again. A putrid, pungent smell delighted his nostrils. "Nothing. I could've sworn it smelled like-" he trailed off, looking down into the too deep blue water. What he saw made him jump.

Katie noticed. "What?" she asked.

Travis shook his head. This was a little too much like his mother's _Mary Downing Hahn_ books. It started with a face in the water, then a dead girl…

"I just thought I saw a mermaid or something," said Travis, still unsure.

"Like the naiads of ancient Greek myths?" Katie asked.

"Sure," said Travis. "Whatever works."

They drifted into silence, the only sound heard was a little _swish_ of the paddles. No mermaids in sight, thought Travis, trying to reassure his pounding heart.

Surprisingly, it was Katie who broke the silence. "My dad's a cake decorator. He does that for a living."

Travis paused, carefully phrasing. He turned around in the canoe, figuring he might as well paddle backwards. Travis faced Katie, looked her in the eye, and opened his mouth to say-

Katie sighed. "I'm sorry. That didn't make a lot of sense. I ramble a lot when I'm-"

"Hey, Katie, can I have your number?"

She was caught off guard. "Wha-what?"

Travis swallowed his fear of mortification, and repeated himself. "Can I have your number?" he asked.

"Uh- sure, but um- why?" She seemed to struggle with her speech today.

Travis's heart did a flip. "Because your dad's a cake decorator, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Katie said, phrasing her response like a question, as if she were unsure of her father's occupation. "Why do you want my number?"

Travis forced an easy smile, and said, "You know, just in case I need a cake or something."

Katie looked him in the eye, perfectly serious, if not a little baffled. "My dad does a lot of wedding cakes."

Travis gave her an appraising look. "Even better; I'll be able to call whenever the occasion arises."

Katie had gotten over her shock by now. "What? You planning to get married any time soon?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Travis almost smiled. "No. It's for my mom," he admitted.

Katie squinted her eyes at him. "Didn't she already have you?" she demanded very bluntly. "Don't tell me; you're illegitimate."

Travis shook his head. "Nah. My mom's too civilized for that. Besides, my mom has been divorced for 13 years. Well, at least I think that's what happened. Mom never talks about my dad, and she's never remarried."

Travis took a deep breath, wondering why he was pouring his soul out to this one girl, someone who he barely knew. At least it was someone he liked. It was crazy; liking someone from the instant you see her. Travis had never felt this way before. It was like he wanted to be friends with her, but she knew that he wanted more. And it seemed Travis was prepared to go the long way to learn who Katie really was on the inside.

Her voice broke him out of his current reverie.

"That's so romantic."

Travis gave her a bizarre look; that wasn't what he'd been expecting.

Katie looked to Travis and rolled her eyes at his reaction. "In a tragic sort of way," she said, correcting herself.

Travis still kept his eyebrows raised at her.

"Oh, you're no help at all," she said, finally giving up.

They spent a minute in silence, before Travis remembered something.

"Oh!" Travis exclaimed, digging into one of his pant pockets. He fished for something- a light blue sharpie. He pulled it out with a triumphant feeling. "Here you go."

Katie gazed at it as if it were coated with something disgusting.

"It's my favorite color," confessed Travis.

"Blue?" she asked, taking the object with two fingers.

"Light blue," corrected Travis. "It reminds me of my mom."

"You're a mama's boy?" asked Katie, writing numbers down on Travis' outstretched hand. Her neat penmanship glistened like it didn't belong on his conniving hand. Considering the numerous amount of dastardly deeds Travis had committed, her handwriting probably didn't.

"Sure- I guess," muttered Travis. "I've never met my dad."

Katie's writing hand faltered. "You haven't?"

Travis shook his head sadly. Katie finished, and capped the marker, handing it back to Travis. He slipped it back in his pocket wordlessly.

"But would you like to? If you had the chance?" she asked.

Travis furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Of course, I want to meet the guy and ask him why he left."

Travis hoped she'd stop talking about it all; the subject was always so strange to him. To Travis, marriage meant true love, and considering his mom, she was quite a catch. His mom was so kind, and so loving. She was the best parent any prankster could ask for, and as to why some guy would leave her, even Travis didn't know. _True love…_

Katie persisted, asking, "Then why don't you? I mean, doesn't it seem strange that you're mother got you for all the time, and the other guy gets nothing? It sounds strange."

Travis shook his head slowly. He didn't think it was weird that he only knew his mother, because his mother was a very persuasive woman. Who knew what she'd fight for in court? But Travis decided to answer with, "I could always ring up the phone, but it's more like wondering what the guy will be like. What if he-"

But Travis was interrupted by a shrill whistle. All heads swiveled in the direction of the sound. The life vest-covered counselor stood up in his canoe, something he should never do.

Travis was internally making his own bet on how fast the guy would fall. _10 seconds, 30 seconds, 1 minute…_

"All right. Let's do some exercises. Come on, row, row," commanded the guy, using a trademark bullhorn.

And Katie and Travis got right to it. The two didn't get a chance to talk for the rest of the class.

Although Travis didn't know it yet, it would be Katie's very words that day that would set in motion the most brilliantest of all brilliant plans.

One involving Travis and Connor working together….

* * *

Connor was seriously considering ending his recent affair with karma.

It was true. Connor enjoyed pranks, but only when he was on the pranking end of the line. It absolutely sucked to be the pranked one.

He'd woken up fresh, washed his face, and done all of that, but when he walked outside his cabin, a strange color caught his eye.

Traditionally, Cabin 5 is a blood red with barbed wire, and the menacing. Today, the blood red color was the background for a hot pink color.

Aside from the act of vandalism, it was signed in big bolded letters.

**CONNOR**

And a little heart next to the R, for effect.

Karma's a real witch, as they say. _I'm filing for divorce, _thought Connor glumly. He groaned, and headed down for breakfast.

…

It wasn't in Connor's nature to isolate from other people. But he knew even that much was necessary if he was to carry out this operation successfully.

He had coincidentally picked the first pair of T-shirt and jeans he'd seen in his case. He was an all-black ninja, or so he liked to think. With a brown belt, and the gray and white high-tops, Connor thought he looked like the suave guy with a strange but awkwardly functioning fashion sense.

(It is the truth.)

He covertly signaled Jake and Mitchell to sit next to him. Jake spotted him, and poked Mitchell. They walked over.

Mitchell slid his tray down on the table effortlessly. "Okay, what's with the whole get up?" he asked, gesturing to his clothes. Jake sat down, a scrutinizing eye watching the two of them.

Connor looked down at his clothes, as if there couldn't be anything possibly wrong with it. "What about it?"

Mitchell's eyes widened. "You're a nightmare to look at. C'mon, I know these things."

Connor looked helplessly to Jake, who shrugged and said, "That's true."

Connor rolled his eyes, did one or two glances to the left and right, making sure no one was within earshot.

He leaned in, whispering, "I'm going to pull the greatest prank in the history of pranks."

Connor let the two guys process that fact for a moment. He understood the importance of what was going to happen. The greatest prank in the history of pranks! Oh, Connor could just see his name being written down in the great book of pranks. In reality, there probably wasn't a book of that sort published, but Connor would be the first, even if he were the great devious genius man who would write the book.

There was a long silence, before Jake chimed in with the greatest statement to accompany its precedent. "And…" he probed.

Connor's grin sobered. "That's it. We'll pull the greatest prank ever, so that Stoll will have nothing to do but surrender and bow down to me as I take over as supreme commander of the world! Total World Dominati- what?" demanded Connor.

"Nothing," said Mitchell curiously. "Just thinking."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Well, how much longer does it take? We get in there, prank the place, and it goes kaboom!"

Jake widened his eyes. "Now we're talking explosives," he said, raising his voice in his excitement.

Connor shushed him. "Actually, no, we're not. But something a little more subtle, but still epic."

Mitchell slammed his palms down on the table. "Well, I'm in," he said, with the hugest smile in town.

Jake shook his head at the ground, as if asking, _why do I get myself into these situations?_ But all that mattered was the slow, yet final raise of his head, and the almost imperceptible, but momentous shift of his head.

He was in, Mitchell was in, and so was Connor.

Boy, was this gonna be good.

…

They ran into a roadblock about 10 minutes into their preparation.

Connor's blueprints were laid out on the table, and covered in Connor's quick ingenious scrawls. His piece of lined notebook paper was barely recognizable under it all. If anyone else asked, Connor figured he'd answer with, 'It's secret code. Now go away.'

"Okay, but which cabin is this?" asked Mitchell.

"Er- Cabin 11 or something," whispered Connor absent-mindedly.

It was a minor detail. Connor didn't think it was important, until he noticed Jake's mouth hanging wide open.

"You want us to prank Cabin 11?" he squeaked.

Connor looked to him, confused. "Yeah, what about it?"

Jake bugged his eyes out. "Cabin 11 is the prank city of the entire camp. If there's any cabin that's prank proof, it's Cabin 11."

"Then how the heck did I get stuck in Cabin 5?" asked Connor.

"You're undetermined, remember?" reminded Mitchell. "When I came last year, I was undetermined, but I'm Cabin 10."

"Isn't that the pink one?" asked Connor.

"For your information, pink is a very manly color," defended Mitchell.

Connor smiled knowingly.

"For a couple years, I've been Cabin 9. Everyone in there is just like me. Good with crafts, making stuff. All the handiwork people don't give a second thought about. But we're important," added Jake.

Connor nodded, absorbing this information. He made a mental note to ask Jake something later. "So coming back to the point, Cabin 11 is the pranking hubbub, right?"

Jake nodded, and then added as an afterthought, "It's like the pranking Mecca. Dude, they take pranking other people way seriously. They live for pranks."

Connor blinked. That was so weird; it was like everyone in Cabin 11 was his long-lost brother or sister. Connor shook his head. What a weird thought, he told himself. Where had he gotten that idea?

Mitchell groaned, timely as ever. "And the place is packed. They almost always take in the newcomers."

Connor stared at the table desolately. "Then how the heck did I get stuck in Cabin 5?" he asked again.

Mitchell shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm willing to bet you'll probably end up in 11 sometime soon. Most everyone does."

Connor looked to the floor, feeling suddenly exposed. Was he that obvious that his friends already knew him inside out? It was a little disappointing that he was so easy to read. Was Connor really an open book or was he just a predictable character?

Connor noticed that by not saying anything, the conversation had drifted away from him. He swallowed, and realized he'd left the sentence hanging, unanswered. Connor didn't know what to say, but Mitchell thankfully took his contemplative silence as agreement without a second thought.

"Okay, so we'll meet up an hour and forty-five minutes after curfew. With all the harpies doing rounds and stuff, we might-"

"What are those?" asked Connor.

"Oh, harpies? They're these really old bag ladies. No one even knows why they look for work here. They all look like your typical average lunch lady with the hairnet, and they come here with the whole outfit all matched up. They do the night rounds, and they're very good at it. There's a reason people don't stay up too late around here," whispered Mitchell.

"How come I've never seen 'em around?" asked Connor.

"They're only out at night, and trust me, you don't want to see them," warned Jake.

"You can't actually believe this all," Connor said, appealing to Jake.

Jake nodded seriously. "It's true."

Connor raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, my little disbeliever," began Mitchell, slowly lowering his voice despite the fact that they were alone completely, "I heard that this one trio of campers tried to sneak away from camp, and they were caught by the harpies. And then they had to do something so nasty that no one knows what it is, and the story is still circling around today."

Connor licked his suddenly dry lips, and took a deep breath. "So we sneak out at night, avoid the harpies, steal the imaginary book, and prank everyone in the cabin, right?"

Mitchell gulped audibly. He nodded solemnly. "On the bright side, we have the entire night to do it," he offered, every optimistic.

Jake raised his eyebrows halfway, looking as if he were in penance. "All right, when?"

"Excuse me?" demanded Connor.

"When are we pranking?" clarified Jake.

Connor opened his mouth halfway, and then paused to think. "Tonight. We pull an epic prank on a pranking cabin tonight." Connor screamed at himself inwardly. Where had he come up with that idea?

"If it goes wrong," began Mitchell, "I'm blaming it on you. This was your idea."

"Yes. Yes, it was." And if there was any doubt between the three after that sentence was said, it wasn't visible to anyone nearby.

…

"What do you have in the bag?" whispered Mitchell.

They were sneaking from cabin shadow to cabin shadow. Jake was pretty good at the ninja thing, but Connor could see it would be troublesome with Mitchell aboard.

"Everything. The Pranking Essentials."

"Is it cool?" asked Mitchell. "Pranking other people?"

"There are six reasons anyone does anything. Love. Faith. Greed. Boredom. Fear… and Revenge," said Connor as way of replying.

"Oh," said Mitchell. "And I suppose that's the important one."

"What?" asked Connor.

"Revenge. Isn't that what you're doing right now?"

"Of course," breathed Connor. "It's an act of war when you get pranked."

"War," repeated Mitchell.

"Sure," said Connor, shrugging, "what else'd you call it?"

Mitchell only gave a small shake of shoulders in response.

They didn't speak until they got to the cabin.

They slipped in through the side window (which was surprisingly trap-free), and made sure to wear gloves when handling all of Connor's supplies.

"Don't touch anything," warned Connor.

Effortlessly, Connor began handing bottles and bottles of honey, tar, shaving cream, and maple syrup off to Jake and Mitchell.

"Gods, why do have so much of this?" whispered Jake, his hands quite full as he teetered dangerously left and right to keep his balance.

Connor didn't answer for a while. "I hadn't planned on staying here for long. I thought I was going to get myself expelled. I didn't want to be away from home."

Connor could feel Jake's indecision on what to say. "Why?"

"I hate fencing. I do."

"That's okay," said Mitchell, trying to console him. "It's perfectly fine."

"Thanks for understanding," said Connor, trying to make his voice sound impartial to anything else.

Jake was silent and shifted his arms to pour the syrup at an angle. After some time, they finished the prank set up. Mitchell went away to go explore the cabin. He said that he never actually goes in here.

"So…" began Connor.

"Are you homesick?" asked Jake.

"What?"

"I asked you if you were homesick, Connor."

Connor felt like smiling, though he knew it would do no good because of the low light. Still, the question put him thinking. Connor loved this place. It was so cozy. Camp Half-Blood had quickly become the one thing he wanted to protect. It was his safe haven, and he felt like he should go down fighting for the cause.

"I- At first, I thought I wouldn't like it here. But I do. This place is amazing," Connor finished, with a little pride in his heart.

Connor heard no answer, but he was almost sure that Jake had smiled in the darkness as well. But before Connor could ask for some response, Mitchell showed up in a flurry of motion.

"Our little stealth panda has returned to us," said Connor dryly.

Jake snorted, while Mitchell huffed, obviously irked by his new grand title.

Connor clapped a hand on Mitchell's back sportively, and told the gang, "Let's go."

The three left, but not in silence. However tired and sleep-deprived they all were, they still found the energy to laugh and snicker amongst themselves.

Cabin 11 had just gotten pranked, and they were going to be mad about it. Big time.

* * *

_**Hey. Orchestra concert went pretty bad. 200 to 300 something kids overcrowded on a stage. And I was 11th chair! Because my behavior was bad in class, said my teacher. It's a good thing I'll be going to high school sometime in the future, and then we'll see. And as for that math test, I got a 70%, but I still magically ended up with an A at the end of the quarter. You can imagine me going Hallelujah! **_

_**But yeah, thanks for reading through my rant. An extra review or two wouldn't be any trouble at all...**_


	7. A Measure of Fortitude

_**Hey. Here's the long awaited chapter!**_

* * *

**A Measure of Fortitude**

Travis woke up to the scene of a battle.

Cabin 11, his beloved Cabin 11, was completely vandalized and derailed.

Two words. Pranked.

(Don't question Travis' infallible logic.)

Travis looked to his right and saw several campers drenched in honey, crying, "Ew! Ew! Double Ew!"Travis looked to his left and saw campers slathered with whipped cream, sporting the 17th century-style wigs, and mummified in white string looked to the row of bunks in front of him and saw more carnage. The entire cabin walls were toilet-papered from wall to wall. Whoever had done this had taken the time to use duct tape.

Everybody was in a jiffy. Travis was about to thank the gods that he was unharmed in all this carnage, when he tossed aside his bed sheets (he had gotten upgraded after the sand incident), and stepped down into slick layer of maple syrup.

Travis made a face; his bare feet were screaming at him for being an idiot.

Everyone around him was yelling and shouting.

"What the freaking-?"

"Holy-"

"All right. Which one of you upstarts-"

"I swear, I thought I heard something last night-"

"Aah! …Disgusting…"

Travis saw two feet in front of him, someone slipping and falling on their rear end. He took a step forward to help them, when he heard the _whiz _of crossing a tripwire.

He froze, and then remembered something. Travis had forgotten to look up. He cursed; it was one of his rules. He tilted his head up slowly, in fear of something worse occurring. But nothing seemed out of place. Besides the fact that his entire cabin had been dramatically altered by the impending pranks, of course.

Then Travis noticed it. The one ledge beginning to give out, teetering and weighing its capacity to hold whatever was up there.

Almost as if in slow-motion, the ledge fell (dramatically) and a balloon sunk towards Travis, getting bigger by the moment.

If there was any moment Travis could thank his ADHD, or maybe it was his crazy fast reflexes, this was it.

He leaped out of the way, and seemed to sense the next one coming down as well.

Travis sidestepped that one, but felt the chill of the cold water on his syrup-covered feet. He jumped up like a pogo stick when the next one fell right on his feet.

For a moment, everything was silent. (Well, as silent as it could ever get in Cabin 11 with all the screaming.)

"Ha! Didn't get me this time," he muttered, feeling triumphantly for once.

But his victory was short-lived as Travis heard the groan and squeak of another.

He looked up, afraid once more, to see the biggest water balloon he'd seen in his life.

It was the size of a watermelon and inexorable. Travis' eyes widened, and he futilely raised his arms to shield himself-

_Splash! _The entire contents of the balloon gassed out onto Travis' head, shoulders, arms, and pretty much everything.

And there went any chance of Travis saving his hair. _His hair! No, not the hair!_

"Ugh!" sputtered Travis in outrage.

He took one more look around him, and saw everyone with grumpy faces, tearing away tape and string with barely restrained anger. Vengeance was in the minds of everyone. Travis felt his own fury boil over his visage.

Just when he thought it was over, Travis heard the voices.

…

"SURPRISE CABIN INSPECTION!" yelled a familiar voice. Rats, it was Chiron.

Then Travis heard another voice. For a moment, Travis thought he was the one talking.

But it wasn't. Travis miraculously made his way over to the front door. He leaned his ear against, straining to hear the conversation.

"…but you can't, sir," pleaded Connor. Or at least Travis thought it was Connor. Why was that guy here?

But just to be sure, Travis snuck a quick peek through the side window.

Yup, Connor was talking to Chiron, and some other guy standing up.

At first, Travis couldn't tell if he was standing up. The other guy was really squat and really short, but definitely oversized and overgrown if the facial hair was anything to go by.

The guy's eyes flickered over to Travis' spot, and Travis yanked his head back. He tensed for a moment.

"Why not?" asked Chiron, his voice vibrating through the crack in the door. "It's mandatory cabin inspection. Move aside," he ordered.

The other guy grumbled, purposefully loud and rude. "Just get it over with. You think we like dealing with you brats?"

Travis heard a soft thud, and assumed it was Connor taking a surprised step back.

"Well, uh, my friend Travis is in there. He's got pneumonia, poor thing, and _it's highly contagious_," said Connor.

Travis tried not to snort. Remembering his cover, he kept his silence though.

"Oh well, then, we must take a look at it to see if he needs to go to the infirmary for some special care," argued Chiron, genuinely concerned.

Travis snickered, and decided it was time to intervene. He casually opened his side of the door, although the screen door still separated him from Connor, Chiron, and that other dude.

"Oh!" exclaimed Travis, playing a surprised demeanor. "Hello, Connor. Good morning, Chiron and company."

"The name is Dionysus, you impudent fool," corrected the guy in a dangerously slow voice.

Travis waved it off good-naturedly. "So what brings you to Cabin 11?" he asked. Furtively, he glanced at Connor's face. It was white with worry and anxiousness. Man, were things not going well for him today. Travis grinned to himself.

"Well, we were going to do a surprise cabin inspection," began Chiron with a pointed look at Connor, to which Connor's complexion simply paled some more.

Chiron put a hand on the doorknob, pulling it forward, while Connor simply bodyslammed backward to keep the door from opening fully.

Travis took a look at Connor's face. There was something in it, and he kept glancing up fearfully as if something dangerous were going to rain down upon their present company.

Travis cursed inwardly again; it was one of his rules. He looked up, and saw the big bucket of brown chocolate (?), or was it mud (?). Travis tried not to smirk. What was it with Travis having the inexplicable ability to find the perfect avenues for mischief? "Come on inside, we wouldn't want to hinder you," said Travis, gesturing to the party of two.

"Connor, please let go. I insist," said Chiron, hand on the doorknob.

"No, sir. It's for the best," said Connor. Travis admired the way he was standing up. Really, he could get suspended for all of this.

The verbal struggle had just ended, though, and Chiron and Dionysus were in for a real surprise.

With a sudden jerk, Chiron yanked the door open, and Connor skidded two feet to the left- and safely out of harm's way.

Travis sidestepped, but watched with a small amount of satisfaction as Chiron and his companion, Dionysus, were drenched in that brown slippery substance. Travis felt his eyes widen as they began to slip, fall, and slide. They slid forward into the cabin as Travis and Connor both watched with varying degrees of different emotions.

Chiron and his companion slid and slammed into a bookcase at the opposite end of the cabin, falling backwards and flailing their arms around uselessly. Travis found it interesting to note that Chiron had somehow become unseated from his wheelchair, and that everyone was uselessly lying and twitching on the floor.

Dionysus' hand slammed against an alarm clock during his descent, and it began ticking vigorously, simultaneously activating every fan in the room.

"No!" cried Connor next, putting his face in his hands.

Travis, ignoring him, watched on eagerly.

The fans spun and spun, and it began to rain _snow?_ Travis stepped forward, and felt one of the little white things touch his nose. To his surprise, it wasn't cold, and it didn't melt on his tongue. They were feathers, and Travis spit them out in disgust.

He coughed. "Hairball," he choked. He'd actually hoped to rouse Connor with his stupidity, but even he didn't laugh or make a sound. Really, the loudest sound Connor was making right now was suspiciously hamster-sounding squeaks. For a moment, Travis pitied Connor. But it all went away as Travis continued to watch the next part of the tableau in front of him unfold.

The feathers stuck to everything in the room: an angry Chiron, surprised campers, the beds, the floor, everything.

Connor's face scrunched like it was about to cry. "No!" he wailed.

Travis fought the urge to laugh. His day was going pretty great considering his entire cabin had been pranked.

But then Chiron showed up again into Travis' line of view. He crawled over (probably slid) and supported himself up against a wall. It is also probably important to mention that Chiron was mad.

"You," he mustered out, "and you," he said, turning to Travis, "had better clean this up quick or else."

"Me?" cried Travis in outrage. "This wasn't even my-"

"Just do it," ordered Chiron. And then he left, limping and leaning on a loud angry brown and sludgy Dionysus.

Travis sighed, and looked to Connor. His cronies were nowhere in sight. "Go clean it up, or else."

"Me? It's your cabin, smart one," argued Connor.

"And you set up your terrible prank," countered Travis.

Connor defended himself. "It wasn't terrible," he muttered, sniffling.

Travis shrugged. "Just clean it up," he said, "and be glad we got off this easy."But even as Travis said it, he didn't feel easy about it. This had crossed the line. Travis had felt Chiron's anger, and that was what surprised him.

But even if Travis was confused at the moment, it would all soon become clear. He shook his head and headed to the washroom with a lot on his mind.

* * *

Connor never thought that a scream would be his first moment of joy in a day.

Today was a good day. Or so it seemed.

Then Travis had come in and ruined everything. And now Connor was going to be in trouble.

He had a knack for knowing when he was in trouble. He left the prank there, not caring about other people's cabins.

But he soon would care once he came down for breakfast.

…

Connor saw the crowd first. Everyone was clustered around one of the many bulletin boards displayed for everyone to see as soon as they entered.

Connor fought his way through the crowd. "What is it?" he asked.

"They assigned our cabins, dude. Bro, I'm in Cabin 8, whatever that is." And then he and some other kid high-fived on it.

Connor finally stopped dead in front of the paper. He scanned for his name.

Nowhere.

He looked again, turning up again with nothing. _What the heck?_ "Hey! My name's not on this list!" cried Connor.

"Move aside, punk." Travis ungratefully shoved his way to the front. "Your problem, not mine."

Connor sniffed in disdain. The nerve of some people, he thought bitterly. His snarky retort died on his lips though, when Travis suddenly whirled around to face Connor with a wild expression. "What are you up to, Stoll?"

"Me? Now what did I do?" asked Connor.

Travis glared. With a covert glance about him, he just about manhandled Connor out of the crowd and a couple feet away, out of earshot.

"If you're going to kidnap me, do it quick," said Connor dryly. He found this situation much too ironic.

Travis hushed him. "My name's not on the list either."

Connor cocked an eyebrow at Travis. "I still refuse to see how this is my fault."

"It's not," admitted Travis. "But if both our names aren't on this list, you can bet your pranks that it means…" He trailed off, clearly unsure. A series of emotions flew across Travis' face. Connor was no expert at reading faces, but this was Travis. Face it, they were pretty much the same. The only thing was that Connor was better, cooler, smarter, funnier…

"So it means…" Connor prompted.

Someone behind them cleared his throat.

Travis and Connor both looked up in the direction of the intrusion of their intense and (supposed-to-be) secluded conversation.

There instead of someone Travis and Connor's height, stood a bearded middle-aged man in a wheelchair, leaving Travis and Connor to attentively look down upon him, despite the fact that he was the activities director of the camp, Chiron, and probably someone not to tick off too severely.

It was just too bad both Travis and Connor had already done that.

Chiron was neatly dressed in a frayed tweed suit, looking fashionably well for someone who had just been pranked. Instantly, Connor felt guilty.

"The reason you two aren't assigned to a cabin is because- well, because I have been ordered to personally escort you to your cabin."

"Escorted?" repeated Connor dumbly.

"Yes, dimwit," snapped Travis. "Ordered by whom, Chiron?"

"I'm sorry?" responded Chiron.

"Who ordered you to escort us?" demanded Travis.

Connor shook his head, putting a hand to his forehead. Why did Travis have to ask all the smart questions?

Chiron stared at Travis, and said with the most bookishly serious face, "It is the will of the Gods." And he made a U-turn with his wheelchair, calling out to Travis and Connor. "Follow me."

Travis made a nasty face at Chiron's back, to which Connor made a short derisive noise.

The spoiled brat didn't even deserve that much.

Connor rolled his eyes at Travis' immaturity and shouldered his luggage. He followed the group into a small path leading into the woods. It looked like they were going the long way. How far could the cabin be anyway?

…

1.2 miles, 30 minutes, and 3 steeply-inclined hills later, Connor began to regret his words.

His thighs ached, his back ached, and even his rear end ached. This was almost worse than what exercise they did regularly each day in camp.

Connor wondered why Chiron was wheeling himself through this anyway.

Chiron's legs were paralyzed already, what more was he trying to do?

And every time, they hit a hill, Chiron would politely ask Connor to wheel him up.

Travis sulked a couple feet away, having not been picked as favorite.

So when Chiron finally announced, "We're here," Connor all but wilted in relief.

Connor steadied himself, while Travis called out, snickering, "You going weak in the knees already, princess? I can't be that handsome."

"Trust me, you're not," muttered Connor, loud enough to let Travis hear that and frown. "I'm only fainting at the sight of that ugly wart residing upon your delicate forehead, sire. It is simply too much for me to handle."

Travis' jaw clenched. "I'll give you too much to handle," he gritted through his teeth, clenching a fist.

It was an imaginary wart, by the way.

Connor only sneered, which no doubt made his face look oh-so attractive. _Bring it on_, he thought.

"Boys!" admonished Chiron.

They looked up.

"Aren't you going to unpack?" he asked.

"Where? Are you talking about that thing? All I see is a shack! There is not a cabin in sight," said Travis.

For once, Connor agreed. 20 feet in front of them stood a small cottage-like thing with tufts of hay subbing as a roof. Wait, was that hay? This was hardly adequate. The "cabin" was in shambles. The paint was cracked and peeling, worse than the Cabin 5 paint job, and truly a horrific sight to look at.

Connor's heart clenched in sympathy at the poor cottage.

"Yeah," murmured Connor.

"It looks like a love shack," blurted Travis in his outrage.

At that, Connor snapped up. "A what shack?" he asked.

"A _love_ shack. You know, for the cozy crazy couples on their honeymoons."

"Ew! You perv! Get away from me!" shrieked Connor. "You want to be alone with me?"

"Oh, come on. You were thinking about _it_ too," defended Travis.

The next retort simply popped out of Connor's traitorous mouth. "There ain't gonna be no love in my shack."

A moment of silence went into effect after that.

For a second, all that was there were the jolly oblivious chirps of birds in the trees.

Then Travis cracked.

Quite literally in fact, Travis cracked up. He busted out laughing, and just kept on laughing.

Connor joined in, finding Travis' laugh strangely contagious.

The funniest part though was the puzzled look on Chiron's face. Connor and Travis snuck one look at each other, and continued their laughing escapade.

Then Chiron got it. "Ah," he said. "In that case, from now on, I shall refrain myself from ever having to teach you two the geography of peninsulas."

Connor snorted, and guffawed with renewed fervor. Connor really liked that word: _guffawed. _He could only use it in certain situations, and this was one of them.

Travis' face beamed. "Just avoid drawing them from scratch."

"Wait for it…" cued Connor. There had to be a catch.

Travis rolled his eyes. "Although if you need a male model…"

"Oh gods, no," cried Connor in mock horror, and that started another bout of incessant laughter.

When the laughter began to wind down, Chiron said, "All right, you two. Get going."

Travis rolled his luggage over to the cottage before pausing and looking back for Connor. "You coming?" he asked surprisingly gently.

Connor shook his head slowly. "You go on. I'll catch up."

Connor sensed Travis shrug and go inside. Connor looked to Chiron. "Hey, Chiron, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Connor?" he acknowledged. Chiron was like that, strangely affectionately, filling in as a caring involved parent: the one Connor had never had.

"Um- why am I here?" asked Connor bluntly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why am I here in this camp? I know most kids here are ADHD or dyslexic, and most of these kids are really talented, in whatever they pick up with their hands. But why am I here? What makes me somehow a part of this group?"

Connor felt as if there was a hole in his heart, open and confusing. Nothing ever seemed to work the way he wanted it to.

Chiron paused, thinking. Finally, he let his eyes slide over to Connor's and locked gazes with him. With a certain weight, he said, "You are like a Greek hero. Most of them weren't great, and most of their endings weren't that great either, but-" –he halted, choosing his words carefully- "-they always found a way to beat the odds, and live up to every expectation, surprise themselves by being noble. _By doing the right thing, even if it meant death._"

Connor took in a breath, and began to protest. "But I'm no hero-"

"No. You're only on your path to greatness, and for some, it starts here. Connor, I want you to know, that you are not alone here. You have friends, you have Travis, and you have-"

"Who, him? He's just a pain in the-" Connor trailed off, looking at Chiron's dead serious face. He didn't dare finish that sentence now.

"I don't think you'll hate him that much. You two have a lot in common. I shudder to think what catastrophic events could occur when you two team up."

"Not a chance," Connor quipped. "Besides, if anything, we'll both die of boredom in this isolation cabin."

Chiron's age-old face lined with laugh marks and wrinkles seemed to evaporate as a new sense of youth shone through him. His eyes twinkled as he added mischievously, "_There is always a way out for those clever enough to find it. _If you ever run out of supplies which I doubt you will, look for door number 11. You might find it interesting."

Connor, startled, murmured, "Oh-um okay."

Chiron smiled fondly at Connor. The look was so cozy that Connor had to look away.

Fortunately, Chiron's smile sobered a bit as he remembered. "Oh, and I suggest you two get going pretty quickly. You're already oh, let's say 8 minutes late to your first class."

"What?"

"Tell Travis over there, and I bet you two can run and make it before the first class ends."

"How will you go down the hill?" wondered Connor.

"Oh, I'll just take the ramp," confessed Chiron, pointing to the other side of the hill they had just peaked. Neatly paved, a cement ramp ran accessibly along the side of the hill.

Connor was speechless.

Chiron waved a hand in goodbye and wheeled himself away.

Connor stood there, watching Chiron go, until it was only Connor and Mother Nature left. Connor offered a wry smile to himself, thinking, _I will never understand. _

It would be a while before Connor understood.

* * *

_**Okay, everybody. I'd like to mention that the Camp Half-Blood portion of this story is beginning to wind down, and we'll be seeing a lot more of Connor and Travis' parents. And yes, I'd like to mention that we won't see as much memorable Tratie action. A sad, but true thing. But until then, enjoy Camp Half-Blood with all its complexities.**_

_**Oh, and as for my personal life, I'd like to share some meaningless information. Okay, so in orchestra (Now you all know I'm a dork, since all I talk about is orchestra) we had our picture day. So the guys wear this white dress shirt, with a black cummerbund and dress pants. The girls get these long floor-length plain funeral dresses. (Don't even get me started on how BIG my dress was!) So the guys changed in the bass room, a small room to house a couple of basses, while the girls changed elsewhere. The guys came back outside and sat in their seats, and so did the girls. **_

_**So there's this cellist named Kevin. He **__**can't get the top button below his neck. Then this other cellist named Elliott, (who I used to have a crush on), comes over and pretty much hugs Kevin from the back while he tries to button Kevin's shirt. Everyone was like laughing so hard! My chest hurt so much. But yeah, that was it. And I was fangirling over them, and it was so funny! They're not actually gay or anything like that, but we just pretended they were. *Sigh* **_

_**Oh, and don't forget to review! **_


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